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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028913">A Proud, Unpleasant Sort of Woman</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreedomWriter/pseuds/FreedomWriter'>FreedomWriter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Viola Morton Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Le Bon Ton, Mean Girls in Regency London, Multi, Post-Canon, Regency Romance, Rewrite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:02:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028913</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreedomWriter/pseuds/FreedomWriter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She is not soft. She is only occasionally kind. She is gentle almost by accident. Lady Viola Morton is a steel edge swathed in silk and muslin; she is a scar waiting to happen. Darcy is right; Richard would do well to keep his distance. </p><p>.</p><p>In which Colonel Fitzwilliam falls in love- reluctantly, gracelessly, utterly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Colonel Fitzwilliam (Pride and Prejudice)/Original Female Character(s), Elizabeth Bennet &amp; Original Female Character(s), Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Viola Morton Chronicles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! This is the revised version of 'A Rich Wife', which is discontinued because I'm just not happy with the way it's progressing. I hope y'all enjoy this story as much as the last! Looking forward to your comments :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a fact commonly acknowledged that any younger son of a respectable gentleman- or even a great lord- must, by necessity, be in want of a rich wife.</p><p>Colonel Fitzwilliam had been exceedingly lucky that, in all his thirty years, he had never formed any <em>tendresse</em> for a woman that had not been easily overcome by time, distance, or other circumstances. He felt his good fortune exceedingly, for since he had as yet excited no ungovernable passions in the heart of some young heiress, it very much behoved him to make his fortune before placing his heart at the feet of any young lady, ready to be broken from material considerations.</p><p>The Colonel was a rational man, less governed by flights of passion than by his reason and sense of honour. That he had a warm heart, no one who knew him could doubt; his fair cousin-in-law (“Though I shall ever claim you as my sister.”) was endeared to him by the vivacity of her looks and the wit of her conversation; but in his wife, he sought something a little different.</p><p>“I see no dishonour in seeking a decently-dowered bride.” He had once told his cousin over their port. “I do not resent any accidents of birth, but t’would be a fool indeed who did not seek to improve his lot in life, and I have outgrown my taste for folly.”</p><hr/><p>Lady Viola Morton had acquired something of a reputation among the members of the <em>ton</em> in London. Not eccentric, not silly, and certainly not a bluestocking– the daughter of the Marquess of Rotherham was one of the most charming young ladies to be met with anywhere in England, and so very accomplished as she was! No, she was charming; but several seasoned ladies who had crossed swords with her could attest to the razor-edge concealed under all that muslin and grace. Witness how she had destroyed the reputation and prospects of Miss Letitia Ainsley with but a few well-chosen words; instead of the heir to an earldom, Miss Ainsley had been quickly and quietly married  off to some no-name Sussex merchant and, some had heard, spawned some no-name child within the year!</p><p>Lady Viola, upon hearing the scandal, had blinked and asked the identity of the lady in question. “What puzzles me most of all is why <em>I</em> am thought to know such a person.” She had said before driving on.</p><p>She had little fear of what Father would say; he had as little patience with ill virtue or folly as she did.</p><p>She was now interested in the news that was slowly filtering around London, breaking many a heart as it did. Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy had at last taken a bride– and a country lass at that. Viola had a good laugh, alone in her room. Darcy and his country miss! She wished she might know the story, for a prouder man she did not know (aside from Father, of course, but no one was like Father at all). To have been caught- if that had indeed been the case– to have been snared by country wiles and a pretty face, what a fall for Fitzwilliam Darcy!</p><p>Unlike many of her friends and other young ladies in town, she had never nursed the smallest <em>tendre </em>for him. <em>Her</em> pride made her all too aware of <em>his</em>, and she both understood and reviled him. Her lineage was a matter of intense pride– pride that she certainly had, she owned– and his was nothing to turn up one’s nose at either. The Darcy name, so far, was unstained and proud; she wondered how his country bride would affect it.</p><p>“To be sure,” Viola observed to her cousin and companion, Emily Ashton, “She must be either a raving beauty or an unrivalled minx. Mr Darcy is no fool, but even clever men are allowed <em>one</em> great folly, are they not?” Emily merely raised her eyebrows in reproof, opting to keep her counsel.</p><p>It was not to be supposed, however, that Lady Viola Morton valued lineage and fortune above all else. She placed a value on them, but she was hardly blind to the claims of honour and character! It may well be that the new Mrs Darcy was an intelligent and good woman, with a sincere affection for England’s most eligible bachelor that was returned. But it did not seem likely, in truth.</p><p>Viola sighed, turning her thoughts from Darcy. A new eligible bachelor would emerge, after a brief mourning period, for all the ladies to set their caps at; but she remained, as she had for nigh on six years, no closer to being wed.</p><p>Not that she needed to; as her father’s lone child, she had no need for marriage as a security, save against society, and when one was as rich as she–! But Father had made it clear that he would like to see her honourably wed, and so she must marry, for his sake.</p><p>Only one condition had she set before him.</p><p>
  <em>“I will marry of my own free choice, Papa. That is all I say.”</em>
</p><p>She wondered why he had agreed, but only a fool would look a gift horse in the mouth. Though considering that she had rejected an Earl, a Duke, and the heir to a minor barony in the last two years alone, he may well be regretting his acquiescence. Ah well, she thought wryly, there was no cleverer man than Father, but all clever men were, after all, allowed one great folly.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Marquess' Haughty Daughter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which unfavourable first (?) impressions are made.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elizabeth was feeling more than a little oppressed. True, she had known and been warned that London society was a kettle of vultures waiting to swoop, but she had not expected to be frozen at her opening! She could barely make conversation with these women, but she must try, for Fitzwilliam’s sake. He could not know how lonely she felt without him– she wished with all her heart that Jane were here, but she and Mr Bingley would arrive later in the season from Yorkshire. Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, even, would have been welcome for their familiar faces (only), but they had not been invited; it seemed that the Admiral only knew the brother, not the sisters.</p><p>The wedding had been everything that was lovely; whatever Mrs Bennet’s faults, planning events for those she loved was not one of them, and she was hardly going to leave anything to chance on the day of her greatest triumph. The wedding breakfast that had followed the service had been faultless, and even Mr Darcy’s London friends had remarked on the excellence of the band and the beauty of the Hertfordshire ladies. The joy of the wedding and the subsequent wedding trip had lessened her trepidation over her presentation in London, for through the golden haze of love and wedded bliss, nothing seemed insurmountable. But now, Elizabeth wondered if she should have asked to return directly to Pemberley rather than dip a toe into these shark-infested waters.</p><p>Two advantages she certainly had– her own courage, and her husband’s love. But Mr Darcy could do very little for her when left alone with the ladies of the <em>ton</em>. And try as Elizabeth might, she seemed always to fall short in some way– to feel the amusement and disdain of the ladies to whom she tried so hard to make herself agreeable.</p><p>She smiled reflexively at a dark-haired woman who was regarding her with a somewhat amused gaze. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, and Elizabeth wracked her brains for her name. Surely she had been at the wedding? Her panic grew as the woman murmured something to her companion before approaching her.</p><p>“Mrs Darcy,” She curtseyed. “It is a great pleasure to see you again. I hope you are in good health?”</p><p>Elizabeth managed another polite smile and a curtsey. “The pleasure is mine, Miss… madam.” She watched in despair as one fine eyebrow rose, and the woman pursed her lips. The blonde companion cast her a faintly pitying look.</p><p>“I am sure it is.” The woman replied, her tone cool. “You remember my cousin, I am sure.” With a mocking smile, she gestured to her beautiful companion, who curtseyed. </p><p>“Indeed.” Elizabeth curtseyed once more. “Have you been in London long?” She fought for a measure of self-possession, and felt she had done rather well.</p><p>A strange look entered her adversary’s eye. “We arrived three weeks ago. Dear Papa is <em>most</em> eager to call on you at home.” Her smile was all sweetness now. “I daresay we will attend upon you soon, within the week.”</p><p>Elizabeth assured her that they would be honoured to receive such esteemed guests– a remark that brought another mocking smile to the woman’s lips– and prayed that the woman would take some pity upon her and drop some hint as to her identity, along with her father’s.</p><p>Fortunately, the gentlemen returned at that precise moment, and Fitzwilliam lost no time in finding his bride. “Elizabeth, my dear,” He drew her arm through his, before turning to her companions. She felt, more than saw, the tension that came over him. “Lady Viola,” His tone was as cool as hers. “Miss Ashton.”</p><p>The mockery in Lady Viola’s smile acquired an edge. “Well met, Mr Darcy.” Even her curtsey carried a barb. “How lovely to see you. Marriage seems to suit you uncommonly well.”</p><p>Miss Ashton, silent though she was, cast her cousin a look of reproach. Mr Darcy appeared to bridle. “You have my thanks, madam.” He was all bite. “You seem most suited to your own circumstances as well.”</p><p>It was a hit, a good hit. Viola raised her chin defiantly. “But of course,” She taunted. “To be one’s own mistress would suit anyone.”</p><p>“Is any woman truly her own mistress, I wonder?” Elizabeth wondered aloud. She raised her eyebrows at the daughter of the Marquess of Rotherham– of course. The lady, her father, and her cousin had all attended the wedding at Meryton. They had been introduced, but so few words had passed between them, and there had been so many guests that her name had quite slipped Elizabeth’s mind. No doubt the mistake had been taken as a slight by the Marquess’ haughty daughter!</p><p>Those cold brown eyes turned back to her. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Darcy?”</p><p>Elizabeth affected a look of innocence. “You need not, Lady Viola,” She replied sweetly. “But I do wonder at your idea that a woman can at all be her own mistress– first she is under the rule of her father, then her husband, and then, if she should be so blessed, her son! <em>I</em> never saw a woman who ruled herself as completely as men rule their own lives. But forgive me– perhaps you have.”</p><p>A good speech, she thought– until Lady Viola’s lips lifted into a smirk. “The <em>rule</em> of her husband, is it?” She glanced at Mr Darcy. “An interesting opinion from a bride.”</p><p>Elizabeth flushed as she realised how her words might be misconstrued. “I did not mean–”</p><p>“I am sure you did not.” The lady replied soothingly. “Forgive me, I see Mrs Chatterton has been wanting to speak with me for an age! You will excuse me, Mrs Darcy, Mr Darcy, I am sure.”</p><p>“Of course, madam.” Darcy bowed. Favouring them both with a smile that was not so much cold now as it was amused, Viola and Emily left them.</p><p>Elizabeth sensibly kept silent until their carriage arrived, and they were well away from the Talbot residence. “Fitzwilliam, I did not mean–” She began, flushing red as she recollected her words. “Surely you know I do not think you <em>rule</em> me.”</p><p>He kissed her hand. “Indeed you do not, my love, for it is <em>you </em>who rule <em>me</em>.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “You should not be downcast, my Elizabeth; more seasoned players of this game have come off worse for tangling with Viola.”</p><p>She did not miss the lack of title. “You know her, then?”</p><p>He sighed. “In former years, I knew her well. Our families have been intimate for a long time. Viola was a great favourite of my mother’s, and in truth, I believe she was sincerely attached to her in return.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“My mother’s death caused the first rupture. Viola was very deeply afflicted, and if it had not been for Georgiana, I believe she would have fallen into a melancholy. My sister was a newborn infant, and Viola eleven; she cared for her as tenderly as if she were her own sister. But it could not last, naturally; when they departed, I too returned to Eton, and the prolific correspondence between Pemberley and Rotherham began to dwindle. There was simply no one for her to write to.” He sighed again. “We were good friends, but as we grew up, we also grew apart. I could not, of course, write to her, nor she to me. The connection seemed extinguished almost overnight.”</p><p>“It must have been very hard for you both.” Elizabeth observed carefully.</p><p>He nodded. “More so for her, I think. But at any rate, I next saw her some eight years later, at her coming-out, and any attempts on my part to rekindle our friendship were firmly and…” His lips twisted. “Decisively rebuffed. My father was disappointed; I suppose he had hoped for a match. But I had no such intentions, and the lady herself regarded the idea as laughable.”</p><p>It was evident that his pride at been stung, and that the manner of rejection had been <em>decisive</em> enough to alter forever in his eyes the young girl whom he had once considered with more than passing fondness.</p><p>“She had changed; no one could call her uncivil, and I understand her haughtiness perhaps better than most,” Elizabeth chuckled at this, and he rolled his eyes. “But she has been cruel in the past, with her games. I cannot approve the wanton destruction of a young girl’s prospects, the blighting of her life. I honour the Marquess, and I will never forget Viola’s attachment to my mother and her kindness to my infant sister, but more than that, I cannot give her.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Most Promising Diversion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Lady Viola Morton makes a decision, much to Miss Ashton's dismay.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You did not need to be quite so cruel, Viola.” Emily said quietly. Viola raised an eyebrow. “Cruel, dear?” She took a sip of tea as her eyes were drawn back to Mrs Darcy.</p><p>Her surprise had been great upon beholding the bride at her wedding. Viola had been expecting– she did not herself know what it was that she <em>had</em> been expecting, but certainly not a pretty young woman with green eyes so expressive that she need never open her lips, an athletic, light figure, and dark curls not unlike her own. Her countenance had both character and good humour, however, which had disposed Viola to like her, and while she was not such a beauty as her elder sister, she had wit and vivacity in spades.</p><p>As did every second hopeful débutante. Viola had hoped that Mr Darcy would prepare her well for the savagery of <em>ton</em> parties, and for the knives that would be out for her in particular.</p><p>He had not.</p><p>She and Papa had called, but the Darcys had not been at home. Others had more success; Viola heard, from her numerous acquaintance, talk about the ‘pert, vulgar little miss’ who had taken Darcy off the market, and had allowed herself a chuckle at his expense before considering the girl with pity. “No beauty, no grace, all country manners and fine eyes” had been Lady Berkeley’s succinct summing-up of the new bride. Viola could not but feel sorry for her, if only for a few moments.</p><p>Then she had forgotten Viola’s name. In anyone else, it would have been an unforgiveable slight.</p><p>“You provoked her into saying that.” Emily replied. “It is hardly her fault she could not remember your name–”</p><p>Viola’s lips tightened. “I do not care that she forgot my name.” She said through clenched teeth. “She has no right to forget <em>anyone’s</em>. Do you think Lady Anne would have been so <em>clumsy</em>?”</p><p>Emily sipped her tea. “I never knew Lady Anne Darcy.” She replied. “But it is hardly conceivable that she never made a mistake in her life.”</p><p>“Certainly none like this.” Viola rolled her eyes. “She was the soul of grace.”</p><p>“Elizabeth Darcy is no Earl’s daughter with seasons under her belt. Can you not show a little kindness?” Emily urged.</p><p>“You were kind to Letty Ainsley.” Emily stiffened. “What did that bring you?”</p><p>Emily placed her teacup down slowly. “It brought me near-ruin, as you know. And yet, I wish you had been kinder to even her. Not for her sake, but for yours.” She took her time spreading butter on a scone. “It is the only thing, I think, that you do not have.”</p><p>Viola was taken aback. Emily had spoken in a similar vein before, but never so directly. “Well,” She attempted a laugh. “I suppose you shall have to remain with me forever, for I declare you have enough for the both of us!"</p><p>Emily did not laugh. Viola subsided, regarding her cousin’s grave countenance. “Come, my dear,” She shook her head. “Would you have me soften towards dear Mrs Darcy? Perhaps play guardian angel and guide as she navigates the <em>ton</em>?”</p><p>Miss Ashton scoffed. “The former, perhaps. Certainly not the latter.”</p><p>“And yet,” My lady’s tone grew thoughtful. “T’would be amusing, to turn her from the scorn of society into its unrivalled darling.”</p><p>Emily’s eyes widened. “Turn her– oh, Viola, you must not, indeed! Take her under your wing?”</p><p>“Is it not a famous idea?"</p><p>"In some ways, perhaps." Emily fixed her friend with a piercing look. "But you do it from selfish motives, dear- to have her under your wing would be most amusing for you, would it not?"</p><p>"You know me so well that explanations are redundant." Viola patted her hand. "This season will not be boring, I declare! Imagine Lady Berkeley eating her words! Why, it would be infinitely more diverting than watching débutantes lurch from scandal to scandal! They grow more insipid every year– and Mrs Darcy does show some promise, does she not?”</p><p>"Viola, you cannot make her travails your entertainment."</p><p>"On the contrary, my dear; she will have fewer travails with me to guide her. No one loses, you see: she will not have to deal so much with the <em>ton</em>, and we will be assured of more enjoyment than a London season ordinarily provides."</p><p>"<em>You</em> will; I cannot take part in this." Miss Ashton declared.</p><p>"Upon my word, I do not understand you!" Viola exclaimed. "You would not wish me to leave Lady Anne's daughter-in-law to face the sharks on her own, would you?”</p><p> “And what makes you think she will accept your help, pray? She would be a fool to trust you after today.”</p><p>Viola smirked. “I do not think her a fool– which is why she will accept my help, regardless. She knows she can afford few faux pas, and neither can she rely on her husband’s good standing forever. She must establish an identity of her own– else one will be established for her, and not one she will like! Indeed, I think ‘tis practically charity on my part!”</p><p>“It would be, if you were to help her from purer motives.” Emily replied flatly. "You do not need to play the games of the <em>ton</em>, Viola, you are better than that."</p><p>"Am I? I thank you; ‘tis not an opinion we share, but I shall endeavour to learn purer motivations before we call on Mr and Mrs Darcy in the morning. If I cannot, then boredom will have to suffice."</p><p>"You are impossible!” Emily was too well-bred to throw up her hands, but it was all in her tone of voice. “I will not be teased by you anymore.”</p><p>“Your pardon, my love, that was not my intention.” The devilish glint in Viola’s eye, however, gave the lie to her words.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. An Accord</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Austen's heroine and mine reach an accord.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Marquess was not best pleased at having been volunteered for a morning call without his consent. “I would have preferred to have been asked my convenience beforehand.” He observed coolly over breakfast. “</p><p>Viola did not meet his gaze. “I beg your pardon, sir.”</p><p>Her tone was devoid of inflection. Emily bit her lip at the Marquess’ frown. “You are correct, my lord. I am sorry, it ought to have occurred to us.”</p><p>“I believe you have been desirous of discharging your duty to Mrs Darcy, Father.” Viola took a sip of her tea. “Surely now you may do so by escorting us on a morning-visit.”</p><p>My lord’s gaze hardened. “A trifle high-handed, my daughter. I cannot say I approve.” A faint blush entered her cheeks.</p><p>“Your words shall be attended to.”</p><p>Resigned, he glanced at Emily, who looked down at her plate. “We shall leave at noon, and stay exactly half an hour. Is this agreeable?”</p><p>“You are graciousness itself, sir.” Viola replied sardonically. Before he could respond, she rose. “I beg you will excuse me; I have some letters to write. Emily, should you need me I will be in the parlour.”</p><p>Sure enough, Miss Ashton entered the sitting room after her meal to find her cousin sorting through the day’s correspondence and deliveries. Her eyes were warm with laughter. “No less than <em>six</em> bouquets for you, my love; I believe this is Mr Llewelyn’s third this week! And another from Sir Horace Bartlett– very lovely roses they are too. You had best be on your guard; I wager you will have at least two proposals by this month’s end.”</p><p>Emily rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the warning; I shall have to emulate your skill in ridding myself of them before it comes to that! But how many have you had, pray? Are there any new additions to the throng?”</p><p>The face Viola made would have had her summarily ejected from Almack’s. “<em>Twelve</em>. Upon my word, if my advancing years are not to be a shield against this sort of thing, I am sure I do not know what will serve!”</p><p>Miss Ashton took up her place beside her. “Here, I can help sort through the cards.” She took the sizeable pile. “Marriage is generally thought to be the thing, dear.”</p><p>Viola hummed. “As I have often told you.”</p><p>Emily dropped her eyes back to the cards in her hand. “That is not my lot.” She murmured. Viola’s expression softened, but before she could reply, Emily gasped. “Bedford!” Viola blinked, distracted.</p><p>“<em>Bedford</em>? Surely not.”</p><p>Her cousin held out the card. “See for yourself.”</p><p>Viola took it, brow furrowed. Sure enough, the words ‘Duke of Bedford’ were engraved in plain lettering on the beautiful, expensive paper. “He came in person too.” She murmured, noting that the upper right corner had been turned down.</p><p>“Are you sure you were quite clear in your rejection last year?” Emily asked delicately. Viola pursed her lips. “Perfectly; and at any rate, if I <em>had</em> been unclear, surely he would not have waited so many months to show persistence! Perhaps he has some business with Father, or is simply informing us that he is in town. Awkward or not, he is too polite to do otherwise.”</p><p>“But he delivered it himself.” Emily pointed out. Viola nodded, looking troubled. “That is what puzzles me. But I suppose there is little use in worrying about it; we shall send our cards in return, and see what happens.”</p><p>This course of action was perfectly acceptable to Miss Ashton. “I do wish you had been able to love him, Viola.” She said. “He adored you so.”</p><p>Viola sighed. “I wish that too.” She admitted. “I am sure I do not know a better man, nor, in truth, one who loved me as truly as he. And I own I was sorely tempted.” A wry smile touched her lips. “But he has had a lucky escape, you will agree! He deserves a much better woman than me.”</p><p>“I will agree to no such thing.” Emily fired back. “He would have been deeply fortunate to have had you as a wife.”</p><p>My lady only laughed, and changed the subject. “How wearying it is to have to consult Father’s convenience while visiting! I truly cannot wait until Aunt Almeria comes to us on Saturday; it will make paying calls and receiving guests so much easier.”</p><p>Her friend smiled. Almeria Morton, wife to Mr Clarence Morton, Lord Rotherham’s cousin and heir, was very fond of her niece; a fondness that had survived Viola’s tempestuous adolescence, and into even her spiky adulthood. The hope that she might one day call Viola ‘daughter’, and her niece’s enormous fortune remain in the family, accounted for only a <em>small</em> part of her affection. Mrs Morton had two sons, and well she would appreciate Viola’s choosing Robert, the elder, for a mate (for the younger was still up at Oxford), but if the younger lady were to prefer some other gentleman (within reason– and the peerage), why, her aunt would have no quarrel with it!</p><p>“It will be good to see her again.” She replied. “Will Mr Morton be joining us as well?”</p><p>“No; Father did ask him, but whatever it is that induces Uncle to leave his home, Rotherham Place does not have it.” Viola paused. “Robert told me he would come down for the season, you know.”</p><p>Emily reached for another card. “That will please Mrs Morton.”</p><p>Viola sighed. “Of course, and with his mother staying here, he will likely come here often. He mentions you in his letters sometimes.”</p><p>“Your cousin is kind to enquire after my health.”</p><p>My lady regarded her sadly. “…Yes. Very kind.” She echoed, electing to abandon a subject met with such studied disinterest.</p>
<hr/><p>Elizabeth wore an expression of tolerable ease as their guests were announced. “You are very welcome, Lord Rotherham,” She curtseyed. “It is a pleasure to see you again.</p><p>“Mrs Darcy,” the Marquess bowed. “You look most radiant. I hear your presentation at Court was a great success.”</p><p>“Their Majesties were very gracious, as are you, my lord.” She replied. “Lady Viola, Miss Ashton, you are welcome also.”</p><p>Viola smiled faintly. “Thank you, Mrs Darcy. I hope last night did not tire you too much?”</p><p>Elizabeth shook her head. “Thankfully not. We left at a reasonable hour. I am still unused to town hours.” This was said with a glint of challenge.</p><p>“Naturally; but you shall have to adapt yourself now that you are in London. Nothing is worse than missing some of the season’s delights because one cannot stay awake past midnight!”</p><p>They all sat; Elizabeth rang for some tea. “I can think of worse things.” She replied, thinking of poor Lydia, banished to Newcastle. A short, ill-written missive had come from her a few days ago to inform her sister that she was increasing, and it was so cold, and dear Wickham’s pay was not nearly enough for all that was needed. It had made Elizabeth’s heart ache, and she had impulsively sent her thirty pounds; a waste, most likely, if Wickham got hold of it, but one could hope.</p><p>Viola regarded her thoughtfully. “Of course there are, but not, perhaps, while one is struggling to praise a flat party, with the promise of ten more such in the next ten days.”</p><p>“An interesting opinion, from you,” Darcy raised his eyebrows. “One could almost suppose you to dislike the season.”</p><p>She examined her nails. “It has its uses– forming a large acquaintance, for example.” She met his gaze. “You never know when one might prove useful.”</p><p>She experienced a moment’s qualm; the words sounded rather heartless. But perhaps they would not be surprised.</p><p>Lord Rotherham took advantage of the momentary silence by enquiring after Darcy’s attendance in Parliament. “These Corn Laws are a bad business, in my opinion, and I mean to tell Liverpool so.” He shook his head. “They will either starve the people or bleed them. The people of Rotherham village and nearby manufacturies are furious."</p><p>Darcy nodded gravely. "My holdings consist primarily of my tenant farmers, but my uncle Matlock says that the workers in Cromford and beyond are up in arms. They sent a delegation to discuss their grievances."</p><p>Viola and Emily exchanged a glance. “I have a great curiosity about the gardens here,” Viola remarked. “I barely remember them at all!”</p><p>“Of course, you would have been but a child when last you saw them.” Elizabeth replied, well on her guard. “Would you like to see them now?”</p><p>“Indeed, thank you.” Viola said sweetly.</p><p>The gardens at Darcy House were larger and more carefully planned than at Rotherham Place; fitting, given the Darcy family’s fondness for nature. “How lovely!” Emily exclaimed admiringly. There were beds of tulips, lilies, and a number of artistically placed rosebushes, and even a duck pond!</p><p>Elizabeth glanced at Viola, and was startled to see a shadow of wistfulness in the lady’s face. “It is a little changed.” She murmured, taking in the new flowerbeds. “The pond seems smaller now– but then, I was smaller. It looked almost like a lake to me.” Their eyes met, and it was almost like watching a door slam shut. “As my cousin says, it is truly lovely. Have you any plans for your own additions?”</p><p>“I have not yet decided.” Elizabeth replied cautiously.</p><p>Viola hummed. “It is a difficult thing, to add one’s own touch to a landscape. Rotherham Park is not as known for its environs as Pemberley, of course– few estates are. But my late grandfather, the Fifth Marquess, employed Capability Brown to add to the grounds there. It is nothing to <em>your</em> estate, to be sure, but then Father and I are hardly passionate naturalists! Still, it is pretty enough.”</p><p>“I believe Mr Kent did much for Pemberley’s grounds in his time.” Elizabeth said. Viola nodded. “Just so. He did the gardens at Chiswick House as well, and exceptionally beautiful they are, too! But one must acknowledge the late Duchess’ contribution as well; she was indeed a <em>most</em> enthusiastic connoisseur, by all accounts.”</p><p>“Did you know her?” The exploits of the late Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire– salonnière, compulsive gambler, authoress, and beauty– had been talked of all over the country, including in the drawing room at Longbourn.</p><p>“A little– Father is a Whig, you know, and he knew her and Mr Fox too.” Viola shrugged. “We meet the Duke every so often– at the Spencers’, or at Lady Elizabeth– forgive me, the Dowager Duchess’ home.” Her mouth twisted briefly. “At any rate, you certainly should visit Chiswick House, Mrs Darcy. The gardens are exquisite.”</p><p>Emily, who had wandered in the direction of the duck pond, drifted back. “I adore Chiswick House.” She sighed. “What a pity that we cannot go until Mrs Morton joins us, Viola.”</p><p>“Mrs Morton is the wife of Lord Rotherham’s heir, is she not?” Elizabeth enquired. She received a surprised look in return. “Indeed– my aunt.” Viola replied. “We cannot be tied to my father’s timings, but still less can we be without a chaperone. Aunt Almeria has always been our chaperone for the season, save my first, for it was Lady Spencer who brought me out.” A sardonic look entered her eyes. “One of the few people whose word can be trusted, by the by. She has no patience for intrigue– which is perhaps why she never became one of the Lady Patronesses!”</p><p>Elizabeth blinked, thrown by the segue. “That is… interesting.”</p><p>Viola watched Emily drift away towards the tulip bed and pomegranate trees. “Have you received a voucher for Almack’s yet?” The directness of the question was so unexpected that Elizabeth, even more confused, replied truthfully, “N-no. And I do not expect–”</p><p>“You will.” A sly look entered Viola’s eye. “Or at least, you will, <em>should</em> I choose to speak well of you to Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper over luncheon tomorrow. They are promised to me, you know, and I have known Sally Jersey anytime these past twenty years. It would be the work of five minutes.”</p><p>“Oh?” Elizabeth glared at her. “And why would you do this for me, Lady Viola? Forgive me, but I do not perceive any particular liking for me on your part.”</p><p>Viola chuckled. “So blunt, Mrs Darcy. At any rate, there is no <em>dislike</em>, on my part at least.” She cast her a laughing look. “But yes, I would require something in return. Nothing very arduous, I promise you!”</p><p>“And what might that be?”</p><p>“Simply this: that you allow me to guide you in navigating the choppy waters of the <em>ton</em>.”</p><p>Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but she quickly schooled herself. “I thought you said it would not be too arduous, Lady Viola.” She said sweetly.</p><p>Viola stared for a moment, before breaking into surprised laughter. “A hit, Mrs Darcy! A palpable hit!” She threw her hand up like a fencer acknowledging a blow. “Come, you learn quickly, so hopefully this will be of short duration. But believe me, entry into Almack’s is not merely admittance into the best circles, but it is also something of a signal.”</p><p>“A signal of what, if you please?”</p><p>Viola smirked. “That you are ripe for games of the sort I played with you yesterday, ma’am. Are you prepared to face the ladies– and their mamas– who coveted the hand of your husband? They will not be as kind as me, you know.”</p><p>Elizabeth scoffed. “Was that kindness? I hope never to be your enemy, then.” This met with another laugh.</p><p>“I have been kind enough, my dear Mrs Darcy– and no matter how much you dislike me, do remember that there is another whose welfare will depend significantly on <em>your</em> good standing when the time comes!”</p><p>Realization dawned on Elizabeth. “Georgiana!” She breathed.</p><p>Viola fanned herself idly. “I do not know if Mr Darcy has told you of our shared childhood–”</p><p>“He has.” Elizabeth interjected brusquely. “He also said that you cared deeply for Georgiana once.”</p><p>“I did. I still do, little though you may believe it.” Elizabeth certainly did not. “It is no matter, for even you will admit that my reasoning is sound!”</p><p>It was, though she hated to admit it. If not she, who would watch over Georgiana when she made her début? Lady Catherine would be generous with her advice, but only in letters, for Cousin Anne’s health would not support the air of London; Lady Matlock would command respect, but she was so plain-spoken that she could never instruct Georgiana in the intricacies of <em>ton</em> conversations, and the pitfalls therein, much less provide a model for the same. And she, Elizabeth, was the wife of Georgiana’s brother, her sister-in-law! It was <em>her</em> duty to bring Georgiana out, to sponsor her, and yes, to obtain vouchers for Almack’s on her behalf! How was this to be done, without cultivating her own standing a little?</p><p>“You appear quite deep in thought.” Viola observed amusedly. “Does my offer require so much consideration?”</p><p>Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Not the offer,” She replied. “But your reasons, certainly. I fail to see the advantage in this for you!”</p><p>Her guest’s smile, she reflected, was truly irritating. “There is nothing in that,” Viola waved an airy hand. “Merely more interest in a season that has begun to feel a little… shall we say stale?”</p><p>“I wonder you have not married, then, merely to add some interest to your life.” Elizabeth retorted.</p><p>“Perhaps you and Emily can discuss that, by and by.” Viola’s smile was all teeth now. “Come, Mrs Darcy, have we an accord?”</p><p>Elizabeth was silent for a moment. “Will you blackball me if I refuse?” She demanded.</p><p>“I will not.” The conviction in her words almost made them believable. “You may rest easy on that score. You are Lady Anne’s daughter-in-law, and I would not do such a thing to you.”</p><p>Well. Elizabeth considered her adversary in a new light. Lady Viola was by all accounts heartless, but was she so devoid of all good feeling as to use the memory of a dead woman, and one she had loved, to play her games?</p><p>Such people existed– Wickham, for one, had not cared the snap of his fingers for the late Mr Darcy's regard after his death. But Fitzwilliam had spoken of Lady Viola’s grief at his mother’s passing, and her tender care of the infant Georgiana, with both respect and justice. He could not like her, but he did not quite condemn her. Would he, with his keen judgement, have spoken so of her if she were altogether devoid of kindness and Christian values?</p><p>“In that case,” She searched Viola’s face, but she might as well have demanded answers of the Mona Lisa. “We have an accord, Lady Viola. If you would help me obtain a voucher for Almack’s, I would be grateful indeed.”</p><p><em>Georgiana</em>, she thought. <em>I am doing this for Georgiana</em>.</p><p>Viola’s lips curved into a triumphant smile. “My dear Mrs Darcy,” She purred. “I would be delighted.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A quick note on the events/personalities mentioned in the text:<br/>1. The Corn Laws were tariffs and other trade restrictions on imported food and grain ("corn") enforced in the United Kingdom between 1815 and 1846. The word 'corn' in British English denotes all cereal grains, including wheat, oats and barley. The Corn Laws enhanced the profits and political power associated with land ownership. The laws raised food prices and the costs of living for the British public, and hampered the growth of other British economic sectors, such as manufacturing, by reducing the disposable income of the British public. (Source: Wikipedia)</p><p>2. Cromford in Derbyshire is known as the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, as "this was where Richard Arkwright (1732-1792), perhaps Britain’s first ever 'industrial tycoon' and known as 'The Father of the Factory System' chose to build the world’s first water-powered cotton mill in 1771." (Source: Wikipedia)</p><p>3. Lancelot 'Capability' Brown and William Kent were two of England's most famous landscape architects, who designed gardens and landscapes for the estates and townhouses of the country's elite. Sequentially, Kent came first.</p><p>4. Georgiana Cavendish, Fifth Duchess of Devonshire  was an English socialite, political organizer, style icon, author, and activist. Of noble birth from the Spencer family, married into the Cavendish family, she was the first wife of William Cavendish, 5th Duke of Devonshire, and the mother of the 6th Duke of Devonshire.<br/>As the Duchess of Devonshire, she garnered much attention and fame in society during her lifetime.[1][2] With a pre-eminent position in the peerage of England, the duchess was famous for her charisma, political influence, beauty, unusual marital arrangement, love affairs, socializing, and gambling.<br/>She was the great-great-great-great aunt of Diana, Princess of Wales. (Source: Wikipedia)</p><p>5. Elizabeth 'Bess' Cavendish, 6th Duchess of Devonshire, is better known as Lady Elizabeth Foster, closest friend of Georgiana Cavendish. After separating from her first husband (John Thomas Foster), she met the Duchess in Bath and the two quickly became close friends.<br/>From this time, she lived in a triad with Georgiana and her husband, William, the 5th Duke of Devonshire, for about 25 years. She bore two illegitimate children by the Duke: a daughter, Caroline St Jules, and a son, Augustus (later Augustus Clifford, 1st Baronet), who were raised at Devonshire House with the Duke's legitimate children by Georgiana. Georgiana grew ill and died in 1806; three years later, Bess married the duke and became the Duchess of Devonshire. He died two years later. (Source: Wikipedia).<br/>By the time of our story, Georgiana's son is the 6th Duke of Devonshire, which makes Bess the Dowager Duchess. </p><p>6. Lady Jersey refers to Countess Sarah 'Sally' Jersey, who along with Countess Cowper and five others, were the Lady Patronesses of Almack's, the most exclusive social club in London, and the leaders of English society during the Regency.<br/>During the club's heyday, many mothers forwent a court presentation for their debutante daughters, as the King's court was considered old-fashioned and boring, and instead threw themselves into obtaining vouchers for Almack's, which would enable them to buy tickets to the weekly balls at the club. Only Lady Patronesses could issue vouchers, and they were EXTREMELY selective.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The nature of knowledge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Learning the ton is easy; learning Lady Viola, not so much.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Do you sing?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A little, yes.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Play the pianoforte?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Indifferently.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I need not ask about the harp, I suppose.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I agree, quite unnecessary.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Viola shot her a surprised smile. “How is your seat?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Execrable. I prefer to walk.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And you do not drive, yes?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“My mother did not think it necessary.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your mother is wise; if you do not ride well, then I would not advise handling the ribbons.” My lady hummed over her cup of tea. “Your flower arrangements are lovely, you know. We may turn you to advantage as a hostess.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>Relations between Rotherham Place and Darcy House appeared to have blossomed. Lady Viola and Mrs Darcy, it seemed, were well on the way to becoming fast friends; each’s parlour forever seemed to have the other’s card displayed. Moreover, that… <em>provincial</em> had somehow been honoured with a voucher for Almack’s!</p><p>“Mrs Darcy or not, I cannot believe that the patronesses would think <em>her</em> worthy.” Lady Berkeley was rumoured to say. “Is London <em>so</em> thin of good society?”</p><p>Already the Darcys had made their first appearance at Almack’s; the bride had even opened the dancing! No fault, it was admitted, could be found with her <em>there</em>; her movements were light and graceful, and her ensemble of cream satin and diamonds was most becoming.</p><p>Lady Viola, too, attended. She and Emily were chaperoned by her aunt, Mrs Morton, who had finally descended on Grosvenor Square in all her fondness and finery. Mrs Darcy showed every appearance of delight at her new friend’s arrival, and the two never failed to steal a few moments’ conversation between dances.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“You enjoy reading, and that is no bad thing.” Viola told Elizabeth. “Novels are an acceptable topic of conversation in tonnish circles. But– and I do not say this lightly– kindly do not bandy about this idea that you would infinitely prefer to be at home with a book! There are few people more reviled than the bluestocking.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You do not value your scholars, then?” Elizabeth asked rhetorically, but also a little disgusted. </em>
</p><p><em>Viola sipped her tea primly. “Lord Byron is </em>acceptable<em>, but you, respectably married as you are, should only praise him in intimate circles. At Almack’s, kindly purse your lips and put on your most disapproving expression– particularly with the unmarried ladies! Although should the man </em>himself<em> approach you, admiration is of course to be shown. I like him well enough, but that is little to the purpose. Of course, be careful of showing too much favour; one does not, after all, wish to be the next Caro Lamb.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Elizabeth’s head spun. “I shall need to study this extensively before Wednesday.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“By all means.” Viola inclined her head. “You might write it down.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>Another person who was less than pleased by the growing intimacy between the two was of course the latter’s husband. He did not, however, even hint at forbidding his wife’s activities; but he did admit to strong misgivings about the whole venture. Neither lady allayed his concerns, either: Elizabeth because she shared them, and Viola because she simply chose not to.</p><p>It suited her, she told herself, to keep her motives as opaque as possible, especially where Mr Darcy was concerned. After all, he had never done anything to merit any extraordinary consideration from her– quite the reverse.</p><p>At any rate, she preferred to focus her attention on his infinitely more diverting wife.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Now, shall we discuss your conversation?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her hostess frowned. “I have never been called dull, you know.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Conversation is never just that.” Viola rolled her eyes. “If that were all, Mrs Darcy, I should not deign to speak of it. But I mean something more useful: information. You cannot be safe without information.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elizabeth tilted her head, curious despite herself. “What sort of information?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“The dangerous sort.” My lady replied. “I find that one is safest when one possesses information about the people most ill-disposed to one. In my case, for example, Sally Jersey and I are friends, but she would never dream of embroiling me in scandal, for I am in possession of certain facts that she would not wish anyone to know. Dear Lady Berkeley too; one does not reach the venerable age of fifty-five without a few scrapes, and depend upon it, I know them all.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You speak of blackmail!”</em>
</p><p><em>Viola widened her eyes. “Hardly, my dear! I speak of </em>knowledge<em>. In the Polite World, that is power.” She took another sip. “The truth is, Mrs Darcy, that it is knowledge that forces people to treat you with any sort of respect or consideration. Is this blackmail? Perhaps. But it is the way our world works.”</em></p><p>
  <em>There was, Elizabeth hated to admit, something in what she said. And had she not already once failed to protect a sister, despite possessing knowledge that might have saved her? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Say I agreed with you,” She began, slowly. “How would I begin collecting such information? I can hardly employ an army of spies!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You already do.” Viola replied. “Servants, Mrs Darcy. At market, in the street, while at work: servants talk. And believe me, they know far more about us than we do about them.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elizabeth nodded. “You do not need to tell me that. I took pains to engage a most discreet maid. She is utterly trustworthy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Put not your faith in servants.” Viola cautioned. “But I hope your judgement is correct; a lady’s maid can be the general in your war against the ton. Mine is a treasure. The trick with servants is to understand how to employ them, and when they must be deployed.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She paused to take another sip, and continued, “And always treat them with courtesy. Few things are more dangerous than a slighted hireling.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>Viola had imparted a few secrets about some of the more “noxious” elements. <em>I suppose I should feel guilty,</em> she had said, grinning at a disapproving Emily. But for the most part, she had left Elizabeth free to acquire them for herself. That was in fact preferable; Elizabeth did not like to be so dependent on one she did not quite trust.</p><p>She had no recourse to her servants at Almack’s, but she had herself. Listening had always been a talent of hers, and years attending Meryton’s packed assemblies with Charlotte and Jane had sharpened her ability to conduct a conversation while being aware of everything around her.</p><p>She took care to listen to the whispers about her preceptress in particular. Most of it, she had expected: ‘on the shelf’, ‘heartless baggage’, and ‘unfeeling’ were some of the more flattering epithets. But when she strayed, once, near Lady Spencer and a Patroness she belatedly identified as Countess de Lieven, she was surprised to hear another strain of thought altogether:</p><p>
  <em>“Miss Ashton looks quite radiant, does she not? Every year seems only to add to her beauty.” Lady Spencer said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was a pause. “Indeed. The fashion is currently for dark women, but she is something quite extraordinary. I see Lady Viola keeps a watchful eye on her.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And well she might,” There was a sigh in Lady Spencer’s voice. “Thank heaven no one believed that slander of her last year. ‘Tis no wonder Viola keeps her close.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I often forget that you are well acquainted with her.” The Countess replied. “She has changed much, has she not, since you brought her out?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another short silence. “In some ways. But in essentials, she remains the loving and sensitive child that she was. ‘Tis a pity she turned down the dear Duke; he might have found her softness again.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>Elizabeth did not tell Mr Darcy what she had overheard. In some ways, there was nothing to tell; Lady Spencer had brought Lady Viola out, and had known her for years. Naturally it stood to reason that she had a high opinion of her former charge, even if said charge had changed since then. But there was something that Elizabeth could not quite dismiss about it, some instinct that told her to keep listening, and to keep looking.</p><p>Lady Viola certainly kept Miss Ashton close. She would not abandon her even with a chaperone, unless there was absolutely no other choice. The men she relinquished her cousin to, for dances, were acknowledged as some of the most honourable gentlemen in London. At every supper, she contrived to have her cousin make up her party. How she did this without smothering the poor woman, Elizabeth did not know. But Miss Ashton certainly did not seem bothered by it; she took it all in good part, and Viola had her own way every time.</p><p>Elizabeth was beginning to suspect that Lady Viola, for all her mockery and self-confessed heartlessness, cared very deeply for her cousin. But there was something else there, something desperate and almost… penitent. It was not the relationship between a rich heiress and a poor relation; no, there was genuine affection there, on both sides.</p><p><em>“The point of such knowledge is protection,” Lady Viola looked very serious. “Remember this, Mrs Darcy: knowledge is </em>power<em>. It is a shield, yes, but there will be times when you must use it as a sword.”</em></p><p>Had Viola employed that sword, then? Did she speak from experience?</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“You are certainly a quick study.” Viola remarked, plucking idly at her harp. Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte, allowing Emily to turn the pages for her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I would be a block were I to fail to improve, after all the practice you have put me through.” She retorted. “Georgiana is the musician in this family.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As usual, Lady Viola’s face spasmed when Miss Darcy was mentioned. “She plays, then?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All day long.” Elizabeth replied. “She loves the pianoforte more than anything, but she plays the harp as well.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I sent her a harp, once– I believe she was ten.” Viola’s expression was a strange amalgamation of wistfulness, jealousy, and studied disinterest. “I am glad she learnt.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Have you ever played for a large audience, Lady Viola?” Elizabeth indicated the harp. It was not the smoothest change of subject ever, but Viola took it in her stride. “Father, Emily, and I were once the guests of the Duchess of York for Christmas and the New Year. Some thirty or forty guests were invited– at Oatlands, do you remember, Emily?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Miss Ashton started to laugh, much to Elizabeth’s surprise. “Shall I ever forget that visit!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lady Viola’s eyes began to twinkle with mirth. “Such a great house, with a large number of servants– and not one available to wait upon us! The dear Duchess is the worst hostess in England– and the friendliest of women. Such a number of dogs! I do not think I have ever seen such a number of dogs at one place in my life!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“The Marquess was most put out.” Emily supplied, still laughing. “And even more so was Mr Green, his valet!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All our servants were outraged,” Viola admitted. “But indeed, the Duchess is so good-natured, and the party was so full of intelligent conversation, that until we reached our chambers each night, we quite forgot the inconvenience. I daresay you and Mr Darcy will receive an invitation this year.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elizabeth was grinning. “You paint an attractive picture, I must say. And was the Prince Regent invited? I have heard that he is a great patron of art and music.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Lady Viola’s face hardened to the appearance of marble; Miss Ashton went deathly pale. Her hands shook. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No,” And my lady’s voice was so clipped, so cold, that Elizabeth shivered. “His Royal Highness was not present.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The visit ended soon after. Lady Viola was perfectly friendly when they met next, but Elizabeth did not forget.</em>
</p><hr/><p>The day after their second appearance at Almack’s, Emily, Viola, and Elizabeth decided to promenade in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. “I do wish we could drive, or even ride,” Viola sighed. “But phaetons, especially the high-perch variety, cannot carry three, and you, dear Mrs Darcy, are not at home on a horse! Thus, our feet it must be.”</p><p>Elizabeth patted her arm. “I am sure I will one day muster up the courage to drive out with you. Until then, I shall trust my feet.”</p><p>“You wound me, my dear.” Viola shook her head. “Do you not wish to be spirited around the Park at top speed?”</p><p>“Viola is a quite a top-sawyer with the reins, Mrs Darcy.” Emily assured her. “For all her teasing, she is a most careful driver indeed. And one does not gallop in Hyde Park!”</p><p>“Only in consideration of my horses.” Viola retorted. “One day, Mrs Darcy, I will take you up beside me, and even you will appreciate my care of my cattle!”</p><p>Elizabeth would have replied, but at that moment, she was hailed. The three women turned, and a very handsome carriage drew up beside them, from which a man stepped out.</p><p>“Richard!” Elizabeth exclaimed, delighted. “My dear cousin!”</p><p>Viola’s first thought upon beholding Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was not, sadly, a reflection of his looks or fine figure or military carriage.</p><p><em>Here,</em> she thought, <em>is one more piece of our plan!</em></p><p>The Colonel grinned broadly, bowing over her hand. “Well, and how do you do, dear cousin? You look radiant– but radiant! Have you set the ton alight, as I prophesised?” Elizabeth scoffed. “Oh, have done! No such thing. But when did you arrive? We expected you only next week!”</p><p>“Oh, a whim! I said to myself, <em>I must see how my new cousin gets on</em>, and the next thing I knew, I was in a carriage, bound for London! The strangest thing!”</p><p>Emily and Viola exchanged amused smiles.</p><p>Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “Very strange, and I am very glad to see you! You must let me introduce you: Lady Viola, Miss Ashton, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s cousin. Richard, Lady Viola Morton, and her cousin, Miss Emily Ashton.”</p><p>Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam’s first thought upon beholding Lady Viola Morton was that she was not so handsome as her cousin.</p><p>
  <em>This one is definitely planning something.</em>
</p><p>“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, ladies.” He offered them his blandest smile. Viola curtseyed. “Likewise, Colonel,” She replied. “Am I correct in assuming you are related to the Earl of Matlock?”</p><p>The Colonel sighed internally. “His younger son, ma’am.” If he placed a slight emphasis on ‘younger’, surely no one could fault him for it. But the lady did not seem fazed. In fact, her smile widened. “Then you are the brother-in-law of Lady Gertrude Fairfax? Although she must be Gertrude Fitzwilliam now, I suppose.”</p><p>He raised his eyebrows. “I am indeed, ma’am. Are you acquainted with my sister-in-law?”</p><p>“Very little, and so long ago that I am sure she would not recall.” Viola replied. “Lady Gertrude was betrothed to your brother the season I came out, you see, and for the brief while we knew each other, she was very kind to me. She even rescued me from the clutches of an over-enthusiastic partner once, at Lady Jefferson’s ball. I hope she is well?”</p><p>Richard nodded, pleased to hear a kind recollection of his brother’s wife. “She is very well, Lady Viola. I shall be sure to remember you to her when next I write.” He did not know precisely when that would be, but she did not have to know that.</p><p>“That would be lovely; you must give her my regards, although I daresay she has no recollection of me.”</p><p>“I find that hard to believe, ma’am.” Richard said, bestowing a dazzling smile on her.</p><p>Viola eyed him, amused at his practised flirting. He was not the handsomest man she had ever met– <em>that </em>honour went to the Duke of Bedford–but he had energy, and presence, and a certain animation of eye that proclaimed him to be of superior intellect. He wore a black coat, and his cravat was tied in a simple, elegant fashion; his clothes proclaimed his age as much as his face, which was slightly weather-beaten from what she guessed must be a number of years in His Majesty’s service.</p><p>“You flatter me, sir,” She purred. “Let us hope dear Lady Gertrude is of a similar mind.”</p><p>“Fascinating as this is,” Elizabeth cut in, somehow looking both amused and concerned. “We had better walk on. We were just promenading, Richard; would you care to join us?”</p><p>“Alas, Lizzie, it would take too long to take the carriage home and then return here.” He shook his head. “But be sure I will avail myself of such a delightful offer some other time. I had better drive on, or General Buckley will be most displeased.”</p><p>She nodded. “You must call upon us very soon, then. Fitzwilliam will be delighted to see you.”</p><p>“As to that, we shall see. Good day, coz; Lady Viola, Miss Ashton– your servant.” He bowed to all of them.</p><p>The ladies continued on, Viola and Emily hailed now and again by their numerous acquaintance. “Allow me to introduce my particular friend– Mrs Darcy.” Viola repeated innumerable times. By the end of the walk, Elizabeth had been presented to several more personages of the London ton, and was quite confident of recognising them all again in a week at Almack’s. “At least half will call on you before that, or at least leave their cards.” Viola said confidently. “But the next order of business is securing your court.”</p><p>“My… court?”</p><p>Emily sighed. “Viola, is that truly necessary?”</p><p>“But of course, dear,” My lady looked surprised at the question. “Every married lady should have a few gentlemen on whom she may rely– as an escort, a companion, even a friend to carry out small tasks. It is not precisely <em>unfashionable</em> anymore to dote upon one’s spouse, but a few cicisbeos in the ton are–”</p><p>“No.” Elizabeth cut her off brusquely.</p><p>Viola was not accustomed to being interrupted. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“This is a step too far.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I will have no court. My husband– and perhaps my cousin Richard– will be escorts enough.”</p><p>There was something steely in her tone; Viola, though piqued at being so rudely cut off, understood that she would not be moved. And thus, she put the Colonel from her mind; ‘twas not as though she had any use for the man <em>now</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Knots and Threads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Worries, secrets, and plans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elizabeth thought seriously about Viola’s suggestion of cicisbeos.</p><p>On one hand, acquiring a court of admiring gentlemen was the surest way to render a woman fashionable. Women like Countess Jersey, who were regarded as fascinating and whose own mother had once been the Prince Regent’s mistress, were often surrounded by a coterie of men who escorted them to balls and routs, executed their commissions, and flirted so openly that Elizabeth often blushed for them. But Elizabeth did not want to be <em>fashionable</em>, not in that way. She merely did not want to be thought bad ton, and wished to uphold the proud Darcy name so that in a year, she could chaperone Georgiana when she took her place in society. That was all, and setting up a <em>court</em> held no attraction for her.</p><p>At least Lady Viola, upon receiving her very decided negative, did not press the issue; but Fitzwilliam took it very badly. “I had not thought her so lost to all notion of propriety as to suggest such a thing!” He ground out. Elizabeth, who had narrated the tale to both him and Richard as a jest, looked alarmed. “Well, she does mean to bring me into fashion, Fitzwilliam; I dare say she did not mean any real harm by it.” She said soothingly.</p><p>“Aye, Lizzie is right, Darcy,” Richard regarded his cousin with concern. “Gertrude has often spoken of Lady Jersey and that de Lieven woman’s admirers; Lady Viola did hit upon a good notion. Not one that we like, but it <em>is</em> common enough.”</p><p>“But to suggest such a thing to a bride–!”</p><p>“What of it? How many ladies set up their own courts immediately after their weddings? Most, I dare say.” Richard shrugged.</p><p>Elizabeth laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “I am aware that you do not approve of Lady Viola,” She began carefully. “And indeed, I cannot quite trust her fully. But I must admit, she has given me sound advice, and has helped me deal with the likes of Lady Berkeley and Countess Crawley. If I am able to guide Georgiana next year, my dear, I will owe much of it to her.”</p><p>It was a strange experience to be wary of someone, and yet to be conscious of a growing liking for them. It was gradually becoming clearer to her that Lady Viola was a contrary, complicated young woman, capable of kindness, yet choosing more often than not to withhold it. And for all her invaluable aid in managing the ton, Elizabeth had to admit that she often seemed to go out of her way to infuriate Mr Darcy.</p><p>“’Tis a great shame you will not acquire even a single cicisbeo, Mrs Darcy,” She observed once, casting a wicked grin in Elizabeth’s husband’s direction. “You might be the toast of London, if you cared to do so!”</p><p>Or another time: “Oh, do not fret about Mrs Twombley,” She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “She would not dare offend you, for fear I might release even <em>one</em> of her indiscretions to the hordes! To <em>her</em> you may be as rude as you choose.”</p><p>“You would ruin her, then?” Mr Darcy asked, his countenance wooden.</p><p>Her laugh carried a hard note. “Only for sport, Mr Darcy. I promise!”</p><p>All this resulted in Mr Darcy increasingly quitting the house when Lady Viola entered it. For her part, Elizabeth was convinced she had intended to cross swords with her husband, but the <em>w</em><em>hy</em> was an unanswerable– and indeed un-askable– question.</p><hr/><p>“If you please, my lady,” Viola blinked at Emily’s maid. “Miss Ashton does not feel quite the thing– she asks that you and Mrs Morton go on without her.”</p><p>Aunt Almeria looked concerned, but resigned. “What is the matter with her, Cason?” It was the second time since her arrival that Emily had been laid up with ill-health, and over the three years she had been with Viola, she had always enjoyed very robust health. Well, there had been that week last year– she had been ill for two weeks, but nothing catching, thank heaven!</p><p>Cason looked at Viola. “She says,” The maid said carefully. “That she was up quite early due to some unexplained disorder of the system–”</p><p>“Oh very well, very well,” Mrs Morton interrupted, grimacing a little. Her morning would not be improved with a description of bodily ailments! “She had better rest; we <em>have </em>been terribly busy these last few days, and it is so hot, too!– but we had better leave, Viola, my love. Mrs Beauchamp will be expecting us.”</p><p>Viola sat quite still for a moment, before she rose. “You had better make my excuses to her, Aunt.”</p><p>Mrs Morton stared. “Upon my word, child–! I vow there is no need for this– is there, Cason?” The maid shifted, but thankfully was not called upon to answer. “And Amanda Beauchamp so desirous to see you! You cannot be serious, I am sure!”</p><p>“Perfectly, Aunt.” Viola replied impatiently. “And as to Mrs Beauchamp– I trust you know what to say. Do give her our regrets!”</p><p>Mrs Morton was well acquainted with Viola’s implacable will; when her mind was made up, there was no hope of swaying it. She decided not to waste either breath or time; time that could be used to construct a plausible excuse for her beloved but tiresome niece’s absence.</p><p>Emily’s room was dark. “Leave us, Cason.” Viola whispered. </p><p>Cason had drawn all the curtains as per her mistress' own orders. She was smothered in blankets; only her golden hair was visible upon the pillow.</p><p>“Emily?” She reached out to stroke the tumbled curls. “Dearest?”</p><p>The mound of blankets shifted; Emily’s face peeked over the edge. “Viola,” She rasped. “Did Mrs Morton send you? I told Cason–”</p><p>“Aunt has gone to Mrs Beauchamp; she will make our excuses.” Viola interrupted, her tone gentle. “I found I did not care to see the old tabby after all! May I bear you company? Rivers is to take down the knocker for the morning.”</p><p>Emily was silent, her eyes filled with shadowy fears. Viols swallowed her own grief, her own anger. “I thought I might play for you a while, if you wish.” She offered.</p><p>Miss Ashton made the effort to smile. “That would be lovely, dear.” She pressed Viola’s hand, trying to convey her gratitude.</p><p>It had been some weeks since Viola had played her harp so long and intensely. But she did so now, going through all of Emily’s favourites with the sort of dogged devotion one only sees in nuns at prayer.</p><p>But the second piece was broken by a soft sob. “Emily…” She hurried to the bed, bending over her prostrate cousin with a tenderness that not one of her acquaintances would recognise. “Oh, my dearest…”</p><p>“Forgive me,” Miss Ashton hiccoughed, wiping her eyes clumsily. Viola hastily produced a handkerchief that had been painstakingly monogrammed by the lady in bed. “I cannot think what has come over me– it happened so long ago– <em>why</em> it– why <em>he</em>–”</p><p>“Oh, my dearest one,” Viola sighed, gathering her into her arms. “I do not think it signifies <em>when</em> it happened, for it did. And we cannot even punish him for it– the brute beast!” She beat away another spike of familiar fury, and picked up a vial of lavender water to massage into her cousin’s hair. “It was not your fault, love.”</p><p>“But if I had not–”</p><p>“You could have done nothing.” Viola tilted her head forward to reach the base of her skull. “No one in your situation could have, not I, not even Lady Jersey or anyone. You are not to blame, not in the least.” She moved to Emily’s temples. “If you must place blame, look downstairs to Father. Look behind you, to <em>me.</em> Never at yourself.”</p><p>“It was not your fault, nor the Marquess’.” Emily countered, sniffing. “I will not allow you to take that on your shoulders.”</p><p>“It <em>is</em> on my shoulders.” Viola retorted. “It lies heavier on Father’s. You are in our care. It falls to us to protect you, and to fail so dismally… no, we will not discuss this now. But be sure that no one could blame you, my dearest.” <em>Certainly not Robert</em>, she longed to add, but it was not the time.</p><hr/><p>Emily was indeed better for a day and night of rest, and if she looked ever so slightly drawn the next morning, Mrs Morton consoled herself with the thought that she was so <em>very</em> good-looking that it would not signify much.</p><p>“I believe Robert will call today, dear niece.” She patted Viola’s hand with a pointed smile. “He has been so anxious to see you!”</p><p>She did not see Miss Ashton bend lower over her letters.</p><p>“Anxious to settle some wager we made last year, no doubt.” Viola replied dryly. “My cousin does brangle so.”</p><p>But brangling was not uppermost in Mr Robert Morton’s mind when he was ushered into the drawing room. “Cousin, how do I find you?” He bowed over her hand, before directing his keen stare towards Emily. “Miss Ashton,” Those grey eyes softened imperceptibly. “It is a pleasure, as ever.”</p><p>“Likewise, sir.” Emily curtseyed. She met his eyes for a moment, to satisfy the demands of propriety. He frowned. “You have been ill?”</p><p>Emily swallowed. “Only a headache yesterday, sir, nothing more. Viola was kind enough to play her harp to soothe the worst of it.”</p><p>“Do sit down, Robert, and have some tea.” Viola interjected. “My dear sir, we have been expecting you these two weeks at least! I trust you left young Andrew well?”</p><p>He paused, allowing the ladies to seat themselves before him. “Indeed; I believe he was eager to see the back of me, for I would not let him get started on those infernal texts while I was there.” He chuckled. “We will have a scholar in the family if we are not careful!”</p><p>“Envy is a sin, cousin,” Viola pointed out, the primness of her tone at odds with the smirk curling her lips.</p><p>“Viola!” Emily admonished. “You must forgive her, Mr Morton, I suppose the lack of conversation yesterday has left her with a need to sharpen her tongue.”</p><p>The cousins laughed. “A poor figure I should cut, Miss Ashton, if I were laid low by an opening sally.” The warmth of his expression made its way to her cheeks, and Emily hated, hated, <em>hated</em> herself for smiling. It was shabby of him too, to smile at her in just that way; her heart was a weakling and a traitor and it <em>swelled</em> to meet the outreach of his.</p><p>She had good reasons for not encouraging his overtures– <em>were</em> they overtures? In three years he had not spoken, not once solicited her hand, but she felt the ghost of his touch in every man who led her down a ballroom, and it branded her like a wedding ring. But she had good reasons, excellent reasons; not least of which was that Mrs Morton had all but said that she hoped for her dear niece as a daughter in law. It would be an unexceptionable match, but for the fact that neither party had so far shown themselves at all of a mind to make it.</p><p>It should not have given Emily hope, for she had no right. Less than ever, now, and she never had any to begin with.</p><p>Mr Robert, for his part, was much encouraged by Miss Ashton’s reactions: she spoke little, but her blushes and involuntary smiles told him more than words ever could. But the sweetness of her expression was at odds by the lack of encouragement his wooing received. Viola had cautioned him against hoping for too favourable a reception, but he was surprised and confused by the contradictions in her manner. Still, the cause was not quite lost, he concluded.</p><p>Still more entertained was he by the parade of callers that his cousin was called upon to receive. These ranged from the very silly (“<em>Stanley</em>, cousin? Will he advise you on your wedding gown, do you think?”) to the most stiff-necked (“One of the great mysteries of the age is what old Leadenworth sees in you!”), but there were a few with whom he would gladly own acquaintance. One of these, to his amusement, was the Duke of Bedford.</p><p>His Grace Desmond Greville, sixth Duke of Bedford, Earl of Exeter, had been Viola’s most ardent suitor during the last season. Clearly, that ardour remained unabated, though his spirits had suffered a serious check by her refusal of him last year. Still, he was one of her most regular callers, and could be counted upon to send at least one bouquet a week in the hope that my lady would relent and wear his flowers at the next ball. They were beautiful flowers, and moreover, he did not importune her by sending numberless bouquets of red roses, but Viola had long ago determined not to wed him.</p><p>She received him, however, with every appearance of complaisance; he was too courteous to make her uncomfortable by assuming an attitude of either naked adoration or brooding heartbreak. He made a point of conversing with everyone equally, and his remarks were attended by so much sense and information that Viola could almost forget that this was a man she had once reduced to the point of devastation. His easy manners, his friendly attentions, the proofs he regularly provided of his intelligence and good taste, all made her deeply, heartily sorry for the perverse heart that refused to love so– there was no other word for it– perfect a suitor.</p><p>Mrs Darcy, who first encountered the Duke at a ball of Lady Jersey’s, was astonished to learn that not only did such a paragon love Viola, but that he apparently loved her enough to renew his addresses after having once been refused. He was, she told her amused husband, just the sort of man she had once dreamt of breaking her heart over. “I am thankful, then, that the Duke never ventured into Hertfordshire.” Mr Darcy quipped. “I do not think England could hold a Lizzie Bennett crossed in love!”</p><p>She kissed him in the dark of the chaise. “It is Lizzie <em>Darcy</em> to you, sir.”</p><hr/><p>But where Mr Robert Morton was amused, and Mrs Darcy was curious, the rest of London was agog. Whispers spread like wildfire; in a single week, Elizabeth heard that Lady Viola had accepted Bedford, that he had sworn to blow his brains out if she did not take him, and that she was holding him on a string while dallying with her cousin Robert.</p><p>That last one so alarmed Elizabeth that she could not help but drop a word of caution in Viola’s ear.</p><p>My lady merely sifted through her workbag. “Ah yes, that one,” She said, referring instead to the needle she sought. “Forgive me, Eliza,”– for they had progressed to such informality now– “I was not attending.”</p><p>“These whispers, Viola–”</p><p>“What is the new one?” Viola enquired, threading the aforementioned needle. “Am I even now flying to Gretna Green, or is an elopement merely being considered? The one about me planning to compromise the Duke is rather old, you know.”</p><p>Elizabeth blinked. “I have not heard that one.”</p><p>“You will.” Viola snipped her thread. “Rather odd that <em>I</em> should be the one planning to compromise him, when I might have him with rather less trouble.”</p><p>“<em>Are</em> you planning to have him?” Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. Viola mirrored the gesture. “You are rather forward, you know.”</p><p>The other lady grinned. “I think I could come to like you a little by the end of the season, but it is difficult, you will own, to see someone if they are blackballed!”</p><p>“You affect me deeply,” My lady replied, her tone very dry. “I suppose I should tell you that I do not think you the lost provincial I did when the season began?”</p><p>Emily choked on her lemonade. But Elizabeth laughed. “I think that is the kindest thing you have ever said to me.”</p><p>A few moments passed in silence. Miss Ashton had the queerest sensation of seeing double, but did not think either lady would be too flattered at the comparison (or if they were, they would express it in contrarian– and probably similar– ways).</p><p>Finally Viola sighed. “Very well, if you will not spread it about: I do not mean to take the Duke, even if he <em>does</em> ask me again. I hope to prevent such a thing, if I can.”</p><p>“He is by all accounts a good man.” Elizabeth pointed out. “And you cannot pretend that your heart belongs to another.”</p><p>“And for that reason, I should play with his?” There was a definite bite now in my lady’s tone. Mrs Darcy, recognising by now the signs of impending danger, desisted. “By no means, my dear. You are of course the best judge of your own happiness.” She sipped her tea. “I hope you will not fail us for dinner tomorrow? I quite depend upon your attendance, you know.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. An Unlikely Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dinner at Darcy House.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was indeed a small, pretty gathering. Not more than ten or perhaps twelve persons, most of whom were intimate with the couple. Mrs Darcy, Viola was pleased to see, was indeed an excellent hostess; she moved from guest to guest, conversing with wit and grace, leaving a smile on all their lips.  </p>
<p>She curtseyed as a familiar gentleman approached them. “Lady Viola, Miss Ashton,” He bowed. “I hope I find you well?”</p>
<p>“Very well indeed, thank you Colonel.” Viola smiled up at him; he was rather tall. “May I introduce my aunt, Mrs Morton. Aunt Almeria, this is Mr Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You have recently returned from France, sir? Eliza told me so.”</p>
<p>He nodded, taking the vacant seat beside her. “On furlough, ma’am. I made landfall in time for Darcy’s wedding.”</p>
<p>“It was a lovely event,” Viola observed politely. “Mrs Darcy made the most beautiful bride.”</p>
<p>He regarded her keenly. “I did not realise you were attendance. I beg your pardon.”</p>
<p>“No, how should you? We were not introduced then.”</p>
<p>“It was a large party,” He agreed. “Cousin Elizabeth says that you have been most helpful to her since her arrival in London. It may not be my place to do so, but I thank you nonetheless. It was most kind.”</p>
<p>Conscious of Emily’s gaze, Viola coloured faintly and disclaimed any claim to his gratitude. Fortunately, Aunt Almeria enquired after his sister-in-law then, remembering her from the season before Viola’s own debut. “Such a happy girl she was! I hope she is well?”</p>
<p>The Colonel nodded, smiling. “She is, madam, and the mother of a very pretty daughter.”</p>
<p>“I did hear something to that effect, but t’was only in passing.” Mrs Morton admitted. “It has been some years, you know. But I am delighted to hear it!”</p>
<p>“Gertrude sends you her regards as well, Lady Viola,” He added. “She was pleased to hear that I had made your acquaintance.”</p>
<p>A polite smile curved Viola’s lips. “I am pleased to hear it.” It did not escape her notice that Lady Gertrude had not invited her to renew <em>their</em> acquaintance, and she guessed that some of the more unsavoury stories had travelled to Matlock after all. “Forgive me,” She rose. “Lady Spencer calls me. Do excuse me, Aunt, Colonel… Emily.” This last was almost a question, Richard noted, one answered by Miss Ashton’s small, reassuring smile.</p>
<p>“My dear child,” The warmth in Lady Spencer’s tone never failed to bring a smile to Viola’s face. “How are you? We have not spoken for so long.”</p>
<p>She returned the press of the veined hand tenderly. “I am very well, Lady Spencer, and hope you find yourself the same. It is good to see you, ma’am.”</p>
<p>The older lady drew her down onto the loveseat. “Oh, I am always well, dear. I met your Papa’s secretary the other day– in Bond Street, it must have been. The poor boy was run sadly off his feet!”</p>
<p>“Yes, Father keeps him quite busy– Parliament, you know.” Viola smiled tightly. “We hardly see him– which means, of course, that poor Mr Trevor probably hardly ever sees <em>his</em> lodging. I do not think Father could do without him.”</p>
<p>“He seems an excellent young man.” Lady Spencer observed mildly, and then chuckled at Viola’s start. “Oh, not for you, my dear! Perhaps too serious of mien– you want a man to spar with, not one to run over roughshod! No, I was referring to dear Miss Ashton; she is only two years your junior, is she not? And so <em>very</em> good-looking: a real beauty!”</p>
<p>“She is, and both sweet and steady of character.” Viola replied, her moment of consternation over. “She has had some very respectable offers, I believe, though naturally I do not know them all. But Mr Trevor– he would not do, Lady Spencer! Not for her! Why, he’s half a ghost!”</p>
<p>Lady Spencer could not help laughing. “Well, if you say so, my dear, then it must be so. But it is high time the two of you began seriously thinking of matrimony, you know. You are five and twenty already! I hear Bedford has renewed his attentions? He would make you an excellent husband, dear.”</p>
<p>My lady smiled, but would not be drawn into saying anything, except that it was true that the Duke would make an excellent husband. Ever-astute, Lady Spencer returned to the subject of Emily. “What think you of Richard Fitzwilliam? He appears to admire her already.”</p>
<p>Viola looked around sharply. Emily seemed comfortable enough in the Colonel’s company, and he was amusing both her and Aunt Almeria with some sort of story. He did look at her a great deal, but that was nothing. She was easily the prettiest woman in any room.</p>
<p>Viola was no fool, and no stranger to the tender feelings that Robert harboured for Emily. But while Emily seemed to return them, whether she would ever actually accept her cousin was very much an open question. If she married Robert, she would one day be Marchioness of Rotherham, a state of affairs that was intolerable while she lived in dread of disgrace, of bringing shame to the family to whom (she felt) she owed everything.</p>
<p>Might she be more open to being the wife of an army soldier? Disgrace could not, Viola mused, taint a Mrs Fitzwilliam (even if he <em>was</em> Matlock's son) in the same way it might cling to the Marchioness of Rotherham, and all her issue. At any rate, it was worth a try, at the very least.</p>
<p>“I do not know him well, but he seems pleasant enough.” She replied. “But I could not part with Emily lightly, you know, ma’am! And a second son– they will not have much to live on, for all that Father will provide her with a respectable portion. They might make a love-match, but would it be prudent?”</p>
<p>Lady Spencer hummed. “That is true, but fortunes often change in war. It is worth considering, at any rate. I never heard any ill of the man, and of course his lineage is good. A connection to the Darcys and the Matlocks is not to be scorned.”</p>
<p>“Far be it from me to do so!” Viola exclaimed warmly. “Very well, I shall attempt to know him better. If he should deserve her, and if Emily likes him, then he may have her, with my goodwill.”</p>
<p>The older lady could not help but be amused. “Such very exacting standards, my child! Almost I begin to pity the gentleman!”</p>
<p>Viola pressed her hand. “Ah, but ma’am, only consider what he would gain, should he meet them!”</p>
<p>At that moment, one of the younger girls called for a dance. Mrs Darcy, when applied to, agreed that it was a very good notion, and almost in a trice, the furniture had been moved back to create a sizeable space. The younger people quickly paired off, and the Colonel led Emily into the set. He was a stately rather than graceful dancer, and his enjoyment was clear in the way he smiled down at his partner. For her part, Emily seemed to be at ease, her smiles sunny and her cheeks soon pleasantly flushed with the exercise. She made a very taking picture, and all in all, Viola was well-pleased with the Colonel for keeping her friend comfortable and in spirits.</p>
<p>“He certainly does seem rather taken with her.” She murmured, eyeing the solicitous way he saw her to a seat and fetched her a drink.</p>
<p>She did not, however, foresee the outcome of their conversation: Emily nodded, the Colonel bowed over her hand, and then he was turning on his heel, and his eyes met Viola’s from across the room.</p>
<p>She felt, rather than saw, Elizabeth’s eyes on her as Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed the room.</p>
<p>“Lady Viola,” He wore a small smile. “Would you do me the honour of dancing this set with me?”</p>
<p>“You are very kind, sir, but I thought I might bear dear Lady Spencer company–” She replied, but got no further. That dowager shook her head, and asserted that she had much rather have the pleasure of seeing her dance. “For I rarely do, dear, you know. Although,” And there was a twinkle in her eye that Viola had long since learnt to fear. “If you do not <em>wish</em> to stand up with the Colonel, pray do not use <em>me</em> as your blind!”</p>
<p>It was not often that Viola found herself at a loss. “Upon my word, ma’am, you give me a very poor character!” She looked up at the Colonel with a glittering smile. “I would be most pleased to dance with you, sir–it seems that Lady Spencer has no wish for me to sit with her!”</p>
<p>Richard stared at her effrontery, but Lady Spencer only rapped her knuckles with her fan. “Away, saucy chit!” She ordered, shaking her head.</p>
<p>Her lips twitching, Viola allowed the Colonel to lead her into the set. “T’was kind of you to ask me to dance, Colonel.” She said, once she had regained control of her mirth.</p>
<p>For his part, Richard had had no intention of asking her. But Miss Ashton– a angel in face and form, that one!– had suggested that he ask her cousin. <em>Viola is so very accomplished a dancer, and no one has ever accused her of being tedious!</em> She was a considerable heiress, that was true; but between Darcy and Gertrude, he had not heard much good of her– quite the reverse.</p>
<p><strong><em>She was a taking thing at nineteen, to be sure, and rather sweet,</em> </strong>Gertrude had written, <strong><em>but even then she was somewhat high in the instep. But recent events have reached me, and I understand that she is now abominably conceited, and even cruel to those she deems beneath her. Have you heard what she did to Letitia Ainsley? It was only last year– I believe the Rotherhams were the Prince Regent’s guests at Brighton at the time. A friend who was present told me all about it– Viola ruined Miss Ainsley in cold blood. Some unsavoury tale, no doubt of her own creation. Poor Miss Ainsley could produce no proof of her innocence– and this was proof enough of her guilt! Worse, Lady Viola claimed to not even know the girl when told what her wicked tongue had wrought! I almost wish I never knew her, but then I would not be able to warn you. For your own sake, dear Richard, I would advice you to keep your distance from that woman. She may even have dallied with the Prince Regent, for all we know- I heard that they were rarely out of one another's company!</em></strong></p>
<p>“If there was any kindness, ma’am, it was on your part, in accepting.” They joined hands with another couple for the next figure. “Although I should perhaps thank Lady Spencer, for not wishing for your company!”</p>
<p>She bit her lip. “Ah, but you were shocked, sir. Admit it!”</p>
<p>“Only at your courage, upon my soul!” He laughed, despite himself. “<em>I</em> could not cheek Lady Spencer so.”</p>
<p>Viola shook her head. “And you a soldier! It is very bad.” His brow furrowed, but then her humour dawned on him, and he could not help grinning down at her. She smiled back.</p>
<p>“I was delighted to see you dance with my cousin,” She began carefully, her tone light but warm. “She is so very accomplished a dancer!”</p>
<p>Richard <em>could not</em> help it: a bark of laughter escaped him, startling the nearby couples and drawing the attention of many of the watchers. Viola’s eyebrow rose. “I <em>beg </em>your pardon?”</p>
<p>“No, I did not mean– that is– your cousin is indeed a most charming dancer! Everything that is charming!” He scrambled to recover his footing; only a block would miss the storm gathering on her brow. “It is only… well…”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Well?”</em>
</p>
<p>He glanced down at her, discomfited by his own clumsiness. “Only that… Miss Ashton said the same of you. The exact same– the same words. I merely…” He shook his head. “It is no matter, Lady Viola. I acted like a crass fool, and I humbly beg your pardon. I should not have laughed as I did.”</p>
<p>She looked up at him. Already off-balance, he was even more thrown by the look in her eyes. Her expression was searching, even assessing: as though she were measuring the magnitude of his remorse– weighing his apology. It piqued him; he was not used to being regarded so. But then she smiled and inclined her head. “Do not give it another thought, Colonel. I assure you it is forgotten.”</p>
<p>Her face did not soften– it lacked the openness of her conversation with Lady Spencer– but her tone was sincere enough. “You are very kind, ma’am. And may I say that Miss Ashton did not overstate the matter: how well you dance! I see now why Lady Spencer wished to watch you at her leisure.”</p>
<p>She did not blush either; too practised a flirt? But a glimmer of a smile curled her lips. “If I shine, sir, ‘tis only because I have so very fine a partner.” Her gaze, when slanted up at him, was arch indeed. “To dance with you exceeds even the pleasure of watching!”</p>
<p>A practised flirt indeed! Well, far be it from him to let such a challenge lie. “Do you often indulge…” His tenor fell, and he drew a mite closer, that he might loom over her. “In the pleasure of watching?”</p>
<p>This was skirting the bounds of propriety indeed, and yet everything in Viola revolted at the thought of shrinking from his challenge. “That, my dear Colonel,” Her reply was a veritable purr. “Is between my eyes and the… object of their pleasure.” She smirked, and before he could speak, dropped into a curtsey, from which she peeked at him through her lashes. Minx!</p>
<p>He could not deny that he had enjoyed himself, however; she was a comely woman with a taste for verbal fencing and an extremely beautiful cousin. He had her measure, and she certainly knew what she was about! No danger here of entanglement.</p>
<p>“Allow me to escort you to your aunt, Lady Viola.” He offered her his arm in his most courtly manner, and with a demure smile, she took it. “You are very good, sir.”</p>
<p>Darcy’s jaw was clenched tight; beside him, Elizabeth worried her lip. Richard’s flirtations were no doubt surprising, but that Lady Viola should entertain them was even more so. Elizabeth was very far from believing all that Lady Gertrude had written of Viola (that speculation about the Prince Regent she assuredly did <em>not</em> believe), but there was a ruthless streak in her new friend, one that Elizabeth feared might touch Richard, might scar him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. no walk in the (P)ark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Viola attempts to manage a romance. Not her own, of course.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>To </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Lady Viola Morton,<br/>Rotherham Place, Grosvenor Square,<br/>London.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Madam,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please accept my apologies for not having written sooner. We have had several new admissions, and I was hard-pressed to find the time to consider your suggestion at length. However, I have done so, and while the idea is admirable, it is of course risky. Children are one thing; their unfortunate mothers are another matter altogether, and finding backers is only the first hurdle. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Might I request that we meet at a convenient time to discuss this further? The date and place I leave to you to determine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As always, I remain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours sincerely,<br/><br/>MARY PICKERING<br/>Headmistress,<br/>Foundling Hospital,<br/>London.</em>
</p><p>Viola fingered the missive, wondering when she might have the time and privacy to receive Mrs Pickering. To go herself was out of the question; she might be able to hide such an outing from Father, but not from Emily, and she could hardly go alone! She amused herself for a good five minutes by imagining asking Aunt Almeria to chaperone her, but then reached for her diary.</p><p>She grimaced; she was quite engaged every day for the next two weeks at least! But then, surely she need not attend the Watfords’ at-home? Or Thursday’s luncheon with Lady Ormstead, whose insipidity was only exceeded by her son’s? It was all very well for Emily to say she was a kind soul; the same might <em>she</em> say of her best-mannered horse! And Ladybird was of infinitely more value to her than silly Lady Ormstead. She circled that engagement, and then her projected visit to Elizabeth after that. There might be more to discuss than she anticipated, and in that case, she would have to cry off from visiting Darcy House. A pity, that, but <em>one</em> missed engagement out of three that week was nothing. She would at any rate see Mrs Darcy at Almack’s the night before.</p><p>Her reply to Mrs Pickering was succinct: she invited her to take tea with her the coming Thursday, at 3 ‘o’ clock. They would be <span class="u">quite alone</span>, and she looked forward to their discussion. Yours sincerely, etc.</p><p>She sealed the note and placed it on the salver with the rest of her letters. One to Elizabeth, regarding a proposed shopping expedition; another to Sally Jersey; the last to Lady Spencer, accepting an invitation to an al fresco breakfast at Chiswick House next month. <em>You have only to name the day, dear ma’am, and we are yours for it,</em> she had written.</p><p>She was roused by Rivers’ discreet knock. “If you please, my lady: the Duke of Bedford is here.”</p><p>Viola rose. “Thank you; I shall be there directly.”</p><p>A quick glance at the back of her sugar-spoon assured her that her hair was still presentable for a morning-call, if rather simple. But perhaps that was to the purpose.</p><p>Bedford leapt to his feet as she entered the drawing room; in the armchair facing him, Emily bit her lip. “Your Grace, how kind of you to call.” Viola curtseyed. “Pray be seated– Rivers, perhaps some tea? Or would you prefer something cooler, sir?”</p><p>“Miss Ashton has been kind enough to ring for tea already, Lady Viola.” His voice was deep, with a scrape most pleasing to the ear. “I hope I find you well?”</p><p>“Perfectly, your Grace. A trifle tired, I must admit; common enough for the season.”</p><p>He nodded. “I had hoped Mrs Morton would be here– is she–?”</p><p>Rivers placed the tea tray in front of Viola, who began to make the Duke a cup. “My aunt has been called back to Wimpole Street for the day. Sugar and lemon, your Grace?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, Lady Viola.” If he sounded a trifle confused at her enquiry (and well he might, considering how often he took tea there!), she pretended to be insensible of it. Shrugging it off, he accepted the proffered cup with a smile. “Well, there is nothing for it, then: it is not quite the thing, but we have been friends so long that I am sure you will overlook it.”</p><p>“Your Grace is very mysterious.” Viola cast him a guarded smile.</p><p>He shook his head. “Not such a mystery: I merely wish to invite you all to the opera, sometime next week. I have taken a box for the season, you see, and I would be delighted to have your company. My mother will of course be of the party, and I would be delighted if Lord Rotherham would join us as well.”</p><p>Viola and Emily exchanged a glance. “Your scheme sounds lovely, your Grace,” Emily replied. “But you must understand, we would be remiss to accept any such invitation without Mrs Morton’s consent– and still less could we speak for Lord Rotherham! If you were to send a card…”</p><p>“Oh, certainly!” He exclaimed. “I do not press you for an answer at once, far from it! I merely wish to know if you approve of the plan– whether it would be agreeable to you. If it is not, perhaps we may change it to an evening at the theatre, or something else more to your liking.” He looked anxiously at Viola.</p><p>She shook her head. “Emily has spoken my mind. The plan is a capital one, but I could not take it upon myself to answer for either my aunt or Lord Rotherham. If <em>they</em> were to approve, however, then we would be delighted to be of your party, your Grace.”</p><p>He looked pleased. “Then I shall send a card– and so too shall my mother. Shall you be at Almack’s tomorrow, Lady Viola?”</p><p>“Oh yes– Aunt Almeria returns to us in the morning, so we shall be able to attend.”</p><p>He rose, and bowed over her hand. “Then I shall be there, ma’am. And if your first dance is not already promised, might I have the honour of your hand for it?”</p><p>“It is not; you may, sir.”</p><p>The smile he gave her brought a blush to her cheeks; he pressed her hand, and was gone. Emily sighed. “He is certainly very keen.”</p><p>Before Viola could reply, Rivers entered to announce another caller: “Mr Robert Morton, my lady.”</p><p>So close on the butler’s heels was the gentleman that Emily found escape impossible. “Cousin!” Viola exclaimed. “We did not know to expect you!”</p><p>“How could you, when I gave no notice?” He asked ironically, bowing over their hands. “Good day, Miss Ashton.”</p><p>“Mr Morton,” She murmured. He eyed her hand, which, released from his, clenched her skirts.</p><p>He declined an offer of tea, but accepted to stay for luncheon. “You keep a light table, I know– therefore I may not be tempted.”</p><p>“If it is potatoes and vinegar you require, Robert, you must say so.” Viola drawled. “Never let it be said that I did not satisfy a guest!”</p><p>Robert shuddered. “Have mercy, cousin; t’was a boy’s foolishness. You are cruel to throw that in my teeth.” He glanced at Emily, who pursed her lips against any show of mirth. Her eyes gave her away, however, and he could not help but smile at the glint of laughter in hers.</p><p>She looked away, however, and he was forced to attend to his cousin. “… many others aping Lord Byron’s foibles without one-tenth of his skill! <em>You</em> at least have a claim to wisdom; they cannot.”</p><p>“What a poet he is, however.” Emily interjected, shaking her head. “I spent such happy hours with <em>Childe Harold.</em>” Robert’s lips twisted in disdain.</p><p>“A mountebank!”</p><p>“I prefer his gossip, Emily,” Viola cast Robert a warning glance. “He has a knack for spotting the ridiculous in people, amidst his tiresome affectations!”</p><p>Emily shook her head at her friend’s cackle. “You are not fond of poetry, but I confess to being much moved by it. Lord Byron is something of a genius, I believe, though I will admit him to be not quite the thing; were he not <em>such</em> a poet, I would think him shockingly bad <em>ton</em>. Mr Wordsworth and Mr Coleridge are, of course, wonderful, and Mr Shelley is… well, he is an infidel, or very near it.”</p><p>“Quite past praying for, in fact, despite his lyrical gifts?” Viola enquired, chuckling. “Poets are by nature mad, my dear Emily– only look at Byron!”</p><p>Robert made a sound of agreement. “He is the very picture of a poet– and you know, Miss Ashton, if <em>I</em> say it, it must be true! For I spent my first year in society imitating the man (including the potatoes and vinegar) until my eyes were opened to the true meaning of the word ‘gentleman’. Not that <em>that</em> term is not applied too liberally, of course– see how the so-called ‘First Gentleman of Europe’ conducts his own affairs.” He shook his head. “What England will come to when he takes the throne, the Lord alone can say.”</p><p>Emily took a sip of tea with trembling hands. Viola flushed an ugly red. “<em>Gentleman</em> indeed,” Her voice was close to a snarl. Robert blinked. “Would that <em>any</em> of his brothers had preceded him– even that ominous Cumberland! <em>Gentleman</em>!”</p><p>Miss Ashton cleared her throat. Robert was staring at his cousin, eyebrows raised. She subsided, picking up her teacup with that familiar, mocking smile.</p><p>“Your pardon, cousin,” She forced a chuckle. “As you can see, Whig or not, our beloved Prince Regent is not so beloved in this house!”</p><hr/><p>At four-thirty, Viola found that she was in the mood to ride; Robert was quick to offer Miss Ashton a place in his carriage, which was accepted with some degree of trepidation. The matter thus settled, the ladies hurried to dress. Fortunately, Dixon, her maid, had been perspicacious enough to lay out one of her riding habits in place of a walking dress. “You are a marvel, Dixon!” Viola exclaimed as that lady pinned her hair up into a pretty but secure style suited for exercise. “How on earth did you know?”</p><p>The maid smiled. “I’ve been with you long enough, my lady,” She replied simply. “Your gloves– and your hat, if you please.”</p><p>Viola eyed her thoughtfully. It was true enough; Dixon had been her maid for a long time- nigh on ten years, it must be. She knew much about Viola; and what she did not know, she deduced.</p><p>“Yes, that will be all, Dixon. Thank you.” She replied, making up her mind to give the girl a present in the near future. A hair comb, perhaps– she might have an old one lying around– or perhaps a gown she no longer wore? A hat might also do– she had several that she had not so much as seen in years. The girl could make it up, bring it up to fashion if she chose. Yes, a hat would be just the thing.</p><p>But that was a task for the morrow; now, she merely smiled at Dixon as she withdrew, and pulled on her gloves.</p><p>She descended to find Emily already waiting, and taking care to avoid poor Robert’s eye as she did. “Well, has Ladybird has been saddled? And is James ready yet, Rivers?”</p><p>“I dare say he is, my lady,” Replied the old butler, as though James had much of a choice in the matter! Indeed, he was waiting outside, to mount his mistress onto her mare, while Robert handed Emily into his carriage.</p><p>“A neat pair, dear coz,” Viola observed his pair critically. “But a touch long in the tooth, I think.”</p><p>He flicked his whip. “I prefer a <em>safe</em> pair, thank you, Viola. One cannot be fashionable with a broken neck!”</p><p>She laughed, and led the way. James the groom followed, and the carriage brought up the rear. As they turned into Park Lane, Emily turned to her companion. “I have been meaning to enquire after Andrew, sir. I hope Oxford is to his liking?”</p><p>“I dare say he likes university life very well– as much as I did!”</p><p>“But for different reasons, I imagine!” She shot back. Robert threw her an appreciative glance; she coloured. “Living with Viola does leave its mark, does it not?”</p><p>Emily blushed even deeper. “I did not mean to imply–”</p><p>“Oh, but you did!” His eyes danced. “You meant, did you not, that I was a veritable scamp, a trouble-maker, a…” He leaned in. “A <em>bad influence</em>!”</p><p>“I meant nothing of the sort!” But protest was nothing; he maintained until they entered the Park that she had meant to impugn his character. “Had you been my own headmaster, madam, you could not have been more severe! Would that I could demand satisfaction to restore my honour!”</p><p>Emily was almost helpless with laughter now. “Well, we <em>are</em> in Hyde Park– shall we send back for the pistols? I believe Viola has a ready pair.”</p><p>He shook his head. “Were I to challenge you, madam, t’would not last long enough for a duel to take place, for my cousin would ride me off this vehicle and under her mare’s pretty hooves without a care!”</p><p>“To knowingly court her displeasure would be foolish rather than brave, sir.” Emily’s eyes twinkled up at him. “But you are wise not to wish Viola for an enemy.”</p><p>“Indeed, for she would put a bullet through me, and sleep soundly after!” Emily laughed again, and protested that her friend would do no such thing. Mr Morton continued to profess that she would, and invented so many novel ways by which his cousin might make an end of him that his fair companion was kept quite in stitches.</p><p>Viola was delighted to see them in such excellent spirits, and to see Emily conversing and laughing with a measure of her old abandon. It gave her… not quite hope, but something akin to it. There was light in these woods yet.</p><p>She heard herself hailed; Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy approached her on horseback. She grinned; the latter looked like he had been force-fed lemon.</p><p>“Colonel,” She purred. “How delightful to see you. Mr Darcy…” She inclined her head, allowing the silence to drag on. “A pleasure… as always.” His expression soured even further.</p><p>The Colonel glanced between them. “I wish to compliment you on your seat, madam,” He said, urging his horse into step beside her; Darcy fell behind. A faux-pas on her part, but one he would be glad of. “Rare is the lady with so impeccable a form… on horseback.” He shot her a wicked grin.</p><p>“My dear sir,” She replied demurely. “A compliment from such a <em>connoisseur</em> is naturally one to treasure. I thank you.”</p><p>Richard glanced behind them. “Miss Ashton appears to be well entertained,” he observed. “That is your cousin– Mrs Morton’s eldest, is he not? I believe I have seen him at White’s.”</p><p>“Yes, Robert is a member of White’s.” Viola nodded. “And he is a marvellous storyteller; doubtless he is regaling Emily with some harrowing tale from his Oxford days.”</p><p>“I have yet to encounter any other sort from that place.” He replied dryly. “Darcy and I went there together, after–”</p><p>“–After <em>Eton</em>, yes, I know.” He looked surprised at the rancour in her tone; Viola cleared her throat. “You were at Eton with Mr Darcy as well?”</p><p>Richard regarded her closely. She turned, feeling his scrutiny, and offered him a bland smile. “Eton, sir?”  She prompted.</p><p>He blinked. “Yes– I beg your pardon, ma’am, I was. A year ahead of Darcy, and then we were up at Oxford. Those were good days, though a trifle wild.”</p><p>“I must admit,” She shook her head. “It is hard to imagine Mr Darcy being ‘wild’, at least in the way Robert often describes it.”</p><p>“Oh, Darcy can be quite congenial when he wishes to be.” Richard assured her.</p><p>There was a touch of the sardonic in her smile, he thought. “I am sure he can.” She replied, running a hand along her horse’s neck. “Shall we have the pleasure of your company at Almack’s tomorrow?”</p><p>“If you will do me the honour of standing up with me, ma’am, I shall be there.”</p><p>She laughed. “Am I to be your surety, then? Come now, sir; that is rather poor security for <em>me</em>, do you not think?”</p><p>“On the contrary,” He grinned. “There cannot be greater security than a man’s word to a fair lady!”</p><p>“You had best not mention it to your other partners, then; very well, I shall count on you, and trust that my poor charms may carry the day.” She looked behind her, and seemed well-pleased by whatever she saw. “I quite long for a canter; would you care for it, Colonel?”</p><p>He too cast a look behind him, but at Darcy; his cousin looked quite displeased at being detained in Viola’s company so long. “Alas, Lady Viola, Darcy seems impatient to be off.” She glanced back at the gentleman. “So he does,” She replied coolly. “Well, I shall not detain you any longer, then.”</p><p>“Perhaps I might drive you out one of these days?” He asked, not wishing to give her offence. She was by far the most entertaining part of the season, not to mention the mystery that piqued his interest. Gertrude and Darcy’s warnings echoed in his mind, but Richard had never been able to resist a good puzzle. “My father’s horses are not, I think, contemptible.”</p><p>She was startled into a laugh. “I should like that, Colonel– and sincerely hope you phrase it a little better when speaking to the Earl!”</p><p>Smiling, he bade her farewell, and Darcy did too– a very chilly one that she was pleased to return with cloying civility. When they rode off, she motioned to James that she would canter, and duly took off.</p><p>Richard Fitzwilliam was very good company, she decided; perhaps he might do for Emily, though he did not seem inclined to make up to her any further. But Viola would not tease herself over the matter: if Emily’s heart insisted on having its own way, then Viola would not throw a wrench in the works! After all, her friend would be far better protected as a Marchioness, though she insisted on thinking otherwise.</p><p>For herself, Viola had little fear. Should she show her interest in any one gentleman, there would be little doubt that the others would follow, in hopes that the famously haughty heiress was finally of a mind to bestow her hand and fortune. Fortune-hunters, sadly, <em>would</em> crawl out of the woodwork, but Viola had a very good notion of what she wanted in a husband.</p><p>A title, certainly, and a good nature, one that would not pick quarrels over her more high-handed ways; some intelligence was a must, but one should perhaps make allowances: as long as he was not a block who would fritter away her dowry, that would be sufficient. Otherwise, she was reaching for a paragon, and well… she had already rejected one.</p><p>She found herself hailed by the kind Lord Alvanley, who rode beside Princess Esterhazy. The Lady Patroness looked very smart in a riding dress of emerald-green, and as supercilious as ever. Even Viola, with all her pride and affinity for intrigue, could not like her, but to give offence here would be the height of stupidity. So she smiled and greeted her with every appearance of delight.</p><p>The Princess deigned to smile, and complimented her habit. “That shade of blue suits you, Lady Viola.” She said. “I am sure Lord Alvanley will agree that you look very fine this afternoon.”</p><p>“Oh, certainly, certainly, Princess.” Alvanley cast an appreciative eye over Viola’s dress. “Especially atop that lovely mare, ma’am! Her coat and your habit complement each other perfectly!”</p><p>“Upon my word,” Viola stroked Ladybird’s glossy brown neck lovingly. “I am not at all sure whether to accept praise for a happy accident, my lord! But I thank you; such praise is kind indeed– Ladybird is most grateful!”</p><p>She had the gratification of amusing both the most and least exacting members of Almack’s highest circle. A corner of the Princess’ lips lifted, while Alvanley laughed out loud. “Ah, Lady Viola, it is always refreshing to converse with you! Never a dull moment!”</p><p>“I am afraid I cannot return the compliment, sir,” She replied sweetly. “For five minutes’ conversation with you might render my head so swollen that there would be no getting through the Assembly Room doors!”</p><p>This tickled him to such a degree that Viola half-feared he might fall off his horse. But he had a magnificent seat, and soon steadied enough to look around. “I say, is that not your cousin?” He raised his quizzing-glass in the direction of the approaching carriage. “With… well, your <em>other</em> cousin? Robert Morton?”</p><p>She chuckled. “It is indeed, my lord. My phaeton cannot of course take up three, and I felt more inclined to horseback today. It was kind of cousin Robert to offer Emily a place in his carriage.”</p><p>“I doubt any young man would be <em>un</em>kind, given the inducement.” Princess Esterhazy observed. Viola smiled to herself, but remained quiet.</p><p>Robert drew up by them, and greetings were duly exchanged. Alvanley quizzed him about keeping the jewel of the <em>ton</em> to himself, to which he laughed and shook his head. “Do you expect me to part with it, sir?” Emily went red, and looked down at her lap.</p><p>“No indeed, for in your place, <em>I</em> wouldn’t!” Was my lord’s frank reply. “Miss Ashton, may I compliment you on your gown? A lovely creation, is it not, Princess?”</p><p>Miss Ashton was a favourite with Almack’s Lady Patronesses, so there was no danger of this one disputing Alvanley’s compliment, even if the man himself had not been one of the <em>ton’s</em> foremost arbitrators of style. After a few minutes, the two excused themselves. Viola looked keenly at Emily’s blushing, averted countenance, and then shook her head minutely at her cousin.</p><p>Robert inclined his head to her. “I daresay we shall have to head back, Miss Ashton,” He said genially. She looked around at him. “Have you ladies any commissions for me? I go from here to Bond Street.”</p><p>They did not, so Robert left them at Morton House. Viola pointedly did not give him her hand, so that Emily had the distinction of her cousin lightly brushing her fingers with his lips. “I could not have asked for better company on this drive, Miss Ashton.” He murmured. “I would be pleased to repeat the experience– any and every day.”</p><p>Emily blushed thirty shades of red. “You– that is, thank you, sir! You– you are most… kind! Pray excuse me!”</p><p>He smiled, pressed her hand, and allowed her to dismount the carriage. “Good day, coz!” He called, and Viola, grinning, waved. He was getting on very well indeed!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey folks, it's come to my attention that 'A Rich Wife' was briefly plagiarised by someone and uploaded on Kindle. It looks like it's been taken down now (I suspect because I decided not to finish it), but I'm worried about this one being stolen in the same way.<br/>I won't go into the details about how upsetting it is to find 3+ years of writing and research stolen and sold for profit with such impunity. But I will say that it's made me rethink whether I should keep posting fanfics. For now, I'll keep uploading here; I'd be grateful if you could keep your eyes peeled and let me know if this happens again. </p><p>Many thanks to the person who found out and told me about it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Have A Ball</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She just came out to have a good time and honestly she's feeling so attacked right now.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning brought the usual slew of bouquets for the ladies, including an unassuming arrangement of yellow daffodils and cream-coloured primroses for Emily. “A new admirer, dearest?” Viola enquired, snipping thorns off Bedford’s latest bouquet of china roses. She inhaled their sweet fragrance, mentally offering another apology to the sender. “Some clever gentleman, no doubt– it does stand out amongst the roses and lilies.”</p><p>Emily trailed her fingers tenderly over the blooms. “It does indeed. I cannot find any card, however.”</p><p>“This came with it, miss.” Rivers’ face was devoid of expression as he handed Emily a calling card. She took it; Viola looked over curiously.</p><p>“Who is it from, then?”</p><p>She snipped off another thorn, frowning when her query was answered with silence. “Emily?”</p><p>Rivers withdrew, discreet as ever.</p><p>Emily moved away from the bouquet, towards a non-arrangement of Asiatic lilies. Impatient, Viola reached over and plucked up the abandoned card.</p><p><em>Mr Robert Morton</em>.</p><p>Her eyes widened, and she looked at the flowers, and then at her friend. Emily’s expression was very even; one might suppose her to be made of marble.</p><p>Daffodils and primroses: regard and consistency. A measured, mature declaration. Viola could well have boxed her cousin’s ears for his timing.</p><p>“Lord Edward Fotheringay’s arrangement shall, I think, go to my room.” Emily said, fingering the orange petals. “The rest may be distributed about the house as needed.”</p><p>“Emily, wait,” Viola bit her lip. Miss Ashton paused, eyebrow raised. “Dearest, he does not mean to press you…”</p><p>But she got no further, for Rivers announced Mrs Morton. Emily’s eyes flared with panic.</p><p>“My dears, <em>what</em> a to-do! Men really cannot manage a thing, I am convinced of it!” She kissed Emily, and then her niece. “And you girls have been keeping busy, I hope? No scandals for me to smooth over?” She turned away to take off her hat, and Emily sent Viola a pleading look.</p><p>Viola reacted swiftly, sticking Robert’s card into Bedford’s roses. The latter’s card she slipped into the folds of her shawl.</p><p>“What a thing to say, Aunt!” She forced a laugh. “As though we court scandal every other week!”</p><p>Her aunt laughed as well, looking at the flowers. Her smile widened as she caught sight of the roses, and her son’s card. “My dear, such lovely flowers!” She looked from the bouquet to her niece, who smiled mechanically. “Robert has been to see you, has he?”</p><p>“Indeed he has, Aunt,” She replied, turning away to play with a bouquet of lilies. “We– that is, all three of us– went to the Park yesterday. It was most obliging of him.”</p><p>“Pish-posh, my love! As though my son would term it an <em>obligation</em>!” Mrs Morton patted her arm. “He is most excessively attached to you, you know. I have a notion that we will be seeing him here much more– I hope your Papa will not mind that!”</p><p>Viola’s smile acquired an edge. “My cousin is always welcome in any home of ours, dear Aunt.”</p><p>Pleased by this, Mrs Morton looked over all their flowers, and exclaimed over Emily’s bouquets. “And very right, my child, that Edward Fotheringay’s should have pride of place in your bedroom. Such pretty lilies– you might perhaps wear one of them at Almack’s tonight. It would please him greatly.”</p><p>Miss Ashton smiled. “If it should go with my gown, ma’am, you may be sure I will. They are indeed most lovely.” Viola emitted a quiet scoff. The flowers were pretty enough, but an eye for arrangement Lord Edward did <em>not</em> have. Neither, it seemed, did that young man’s florist.</p><p>Emily flashed her a warning glance, and Viola, sick of this folly, excused herself and took her shawl with her. She did not go down for tea, preferring instead a light repast in her room. At nine, as Dixon was laying out her ballgown, there was a knock at the door.</p><p>Viola looked up as Emily entered. She wore a pretty white muslin gown with no orange lilies in sight, and a nervous expression on her face. “I thought you might be ready…”</p><p>“I was just about to begin.” Viola nodded at Dixon. “I suppose I got lost in this new romance by Mrs Radcliffe.” She held up her copy of <em>The Mysteries of Udolpho</em>, and Emily’s lips quirked into a grin. “A new taste for the horrible, Viola?”</p><p>My lady shrugged, casting it on the bed. “Strangely edifying.” She crossed to the washing basin, and began somewhat mechanically to wash her face. “But you are dressed rather early, my love,” She raised an eyebrow at Emily in the mirror. “Beautiful, as always.”</p><p>Miss Ashton bit her lip. “Yes– that is– I thought we might speak–” She cast an uncertain glance at Dixon.</p><p>“If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” That ever-perspicacious maid spoke to her mistress. “I’ll just run downstairs and get your dancing slippers. I’m afraid I forgot to bring them up after mending.”</p><p>“A veritable treasure,” Viola observed to Emily as the door closed behind Dixon. “I should be perfectly helpless without her. Well, dear, we are alone– let us have it.”</p><p>Emily worried her lips. “You are angry with me.” She began. “Or at least you were, this morning…”</p><p>Viola gave her a weary smile. “<em>Angry</em> is too harsh a word; I could never be angry with you. But yes, I was not pleased.” She fingered the folds of her gown, hanging over a chair. “I will help you as long as you desire it, in anything, but I cannot pretend to be happy about it. Not least because there is so little need for subterfuge here.”</p><p>Emily’s chin rose. “I beg to differ; you know as well as I do that Mrs Morton desires to see her son wed to you. There was every need.”</p><p>“My dear Emily, that wish of hers will never be fulfilled, regardless of your presence.” Viola scoffed. “Robert is not a fool, and he does not bestow his heart lightly. He loves you– <em>has</em> loved you, for so long. And you are not so inscrutable, my dear, that I cannot see that you love him too! Would it not be the height of folly, if so promising a match should come to nothing?”</p><p>Miss Ashton refused to meet her eyes. “You overestimate the warmth of feeling in this matter.” She bit out, her eyes taking in the swirling water that still flirted with the lip of the washing basin. “Whatever Mr Morton may feel for me–”</p><p>“If you wish, Emily, to insult my cousin, kindly do so out of my hearing.” Viola turned away, clearly finished with the conversation. A hot flush rose up Emily’s neck, and a retort bubbled in her throat– a knock at the door, and Dixon slipped in, blue dancing slippers in hand– and she swallowed it down, instead excusing herself to wait downstairs.</p><p>Dixon worked swiftly, arraying Viola in a blue net creation over a white satin petticoat. The slippers fit like a dream, and the seed pearl necklet, earbobs, and hair-comb reflected the sheen and lustre of the petticoat and overdress, setting off the entire toilette to perfection. She smiled at Dixon in the looking-glass, delighted with the result. The maid returned the smile with a touch of pride. “You remember my chip-hat, Dixon? The one we purchased in Brighton last year?”</p><p>“Yes, my lady– the one that goes so well with your cream walking dress. Would you like to wear it tomorrow to promenade?” She asked, already trying to recall which of the hatboxes housed this particular confection. But her mistress shook her head. “No; I would like <em>you</em> to have it.”</p><p>“My lady?”</p><p>Viola smiled and tapped the flabbergasted maid’s knuckles with her fan. “No one can say that you have not earned it!” Her last view of Dixon, all wide eyes and flapping lips, had her chuckling into a handkerchief all the way to the drawing room, where everyone was assembled and waiting. “Forgive my tardiness, Aunt, Father.” She kissed the older woman contritely on the cheek. “You look ravishing, as ever– my uncle should be on his guard, indeed!”</p><p>The drive to Almack’s was a short one; though Viola and Emily sat opposite one another, they did not speak much. Each was studiously avoiding the other’s gaze, and Lord Rotherham and Mrs Morton looked a little concerned. They need not have been; nothing could exceed the amity with which the two girls entered the ballroom, arm-in-arm as ever. They were immediately approached by his Grace of Bedford, who bowed over both their hands and reminded Viola that she had promised him her first.</p><p>“My dear sir, I am not yet in my dotage, to forget a solemn promise.” She told him.</p><p>“I would quote the Bard, but in truth, age cannot <em>touch</em> you, Lady Viola, much less wither.” He replied, and she was surprised into laughter. “Such a compliment, your Grace! I must beg you to desist, or my head will be quite turned.”</p><p>“My lady does not own half her virtues,” He said, and could not quite understand why she laughed even harder at that.</p><p>He secured Emily’s fifth dance, and then begged them to allow him to make them known to his mother. Mrs Morton assented on her charges’ behalf, well-pleased and equally well-aware of the source of this honour.</p><p>The Dowager Duchess of Bedford was a gentle-looking woman, not unlike Lady Spencer. She was petite and frail-looking, and even the lighter gowns now in fashion seemed almost too heavy for her frame. But both girls were drawn to the keen blue eyes, set deep under a high forehead that brought to mind portraits of a certain doomed Stuart Queen. The Dowager’s eyes were sharp, the kind that watched the world move and change, that noted and never once forgot.</p><p>Viola was conscious of the need to tip up her chin as that blue gaze assessed her almost from the inside-out. She instead sank into a deep curtsey. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance, your Grace.”</p><p>“The pleasure is mine, Lady Viola, Miss Ashton, Mrs Morton.” The Dowager inclined her head graciously. “My son has told me a great deal about you… about you <em>all</em>.”</p><p>“His Grace is very good to do so.” Viola replied. That gentleman looked both eager and nervous; an endearing combination had Viola been a mere spectator. “You are not often in town, ma’am?”</p><p>“No, it is rare for me to make the journey these days…” Lady Bedford grimaced lightly. “Ever since Desmond’s papa died, I have found the place too loud. I much prefer Bath, for there at least one may take the waters.”</p><p>“It is a charming place.” Viola heartily disliked Bath, but she was not likely to own that. “Emily and I have been planning to revisit it for at least the last three years, but there is always something to demand our attention at Rotherham at just the wrong time!”</p><p>“Strange how that happens,” Mrs Morton chimed in. “It was ever the case with me and Paris, and now there is no chance to travel to France at all!”</p><p>“Nor will there be for some time.” Lady Bedford pointed out. “Bonaparte may have been taken care of, but Paris will likely be in chaos for a good deal longer.”</p><p>Mrs Morton shuddered. “That monster! I hate even the sound of his name!”</p><p>“You have my apologies then.” This was said with considerable dryness; Viola pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh. Emily looked determinedly at the orchestra, her eyes bright with mirth.</p><p>They were saved from potential awkwardness by the re-arrival of the Duke, who had procured drinks for them. The dancing had not yet begun, so Viola was not yet thirsty enough to approve of the watered wine that the Assembly Rooms were infamous for. Still, manners were manners. “Thank you, your Grace.”</p><p>“It was no trouble. The Master of Ceremonies expects the dancing to start soon.” He replied.</p><p>“No doubt you ladies wish to fill your dance cards.” His mother remarked with a smile. “Do not let me detain you– Desmond shall sit with me, and Emily Cowper or Countess de Lieven will doubtless find me soon.”</p><p>Greatly relieved, the ladies took their leave of the Dowager. Viola lost no time seeking out Elizabeth, who was radiant in jonquil and diamonds. “How fine you look!” She exclaimed. “Good evening, Mr Darcy.”</p><p>He returned her greeting with a bow and silence. Emily received a slightly more mannerly greeting, but Viola was long past caring for this gentleman’s civilities. She drew Elizabeth into sprightly conversation that was interrupted every so often by supplicating gentlemen. “Is the Colonel not to be here?” She asked Elizabeth. “Our dance was to stand surety for his attendance, yet I do not see him!”</p><p>Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Well, if he gave his word, my dear, then rest assured he will keep it.” She replied. “I have never known Richard to be forsworn.”</p><p>“Well, if he should be, you should mark the date upon your return.” Viola said, her eyes dancing. “But I will bow your better knowledge of your cousin.” If he truly did not come, she reasoned, she would have hopefully have some respite. Perhaps she would use it to tell some gossip about his shameful behaviour!</p><p>But come he did, and looking quite splendid in his evening dress too. Viola wondered idly if he had something against wearing his regimentals at a ball, but then his carriage was so fine and upright, he had no need for them; one glance would assure the discerning viewer that this was a military man. He greeted her with his customary smile and wit, and she was pleased to return them both.</p><p>“You come so late that the fourth is all I have to offer you, sir,” She peeked up at him through her lashes. “Doubtless Miss Ashton will have something more to your taste.”</p><p>He did not fail her. “Nothing could be more to my taste than to dance with you, Lady Viola,” He wrote his name into her dance card with a flourish. “But if Miss Ashton would honour me with even one of hers, I should count myself fortunate.”</p><p>Laughing, Emily gave him to understand that she only had a country dance to spare, and very late in the evening. “You are too kind, madam, and I will find you for it, you have my word.” He replied, casting a sly look sidelong at Viola. “Your cousin will tell you that I keep my promises!”</p><p>“Indeed, the Colonel speaks true, Emily,” Viola countered. “He <em>manages</em> to keep all his promises!”</p><p>Even Mr Darcy could not help laughing at this. “The lady has taken your measure, Fitzwilliam,” he clapped his cousin on the back. Viola very nearly started at the lightness in his tone. He too appeared to catch himself, his countenance reverting to blankness that still, somehow, radiated disapproval. In anyone else, she would have applauded it.</p><p>She cleared her throat. “I believe the set forms– certainly the Duke seeks me. I beg you will all excuse me– Eliza, Emily, I shall find you after.” She flashed the Colonel another smile as Bedford approached the group to bear her away for the first dance, a sprightly quadrille.</p><p>He was a fine dancer, certainly one of the finest in the room; once again, Viola wondered what was wrong with her, that she was not enamoured of so eligible a suitor. Still, perhaps it was for the best, since she would certainly blight his life.</p><p>She was made, Viola reflected wryly, to be a Duchess; a wife, not so much.</p><p>“My mother was glad to make your acquaintance at last,” He was telling her. “She is quite delighted with you!”</p><p>Viola ducked her head in pretend shyness. “It was my honour to be introduced to her Grace.” She replied. Really, she did not know how to hint him away, if a decided refusal did not do it! Almost she wished he <em>would</em> try to importune her, so that she might have leave to use force!</p><p>But it was an unkind thought, and she retracted it almost immediately. She was conscious of being under even more scrutiny than usual, owing to the Duke’s ardent persistence; it was one of the on-dits of the season, and Viola, a seasoned campaigner, resigned herself to the gossips and whispers. With any luck, he would learn that his attentions were wasted on her. Until then, she would enjoy the distinction that came with being pursued by a confirmed nonpareil.</p><p>The conversation now moved to horses. “Your greys are things of beauty,” He said. “I had the pleasure of seeing you drive them in Hyde Park on Sunday afternoon- you handle them with a master’s touch, Lady Viola.”</p><p>She beamed. “As to my driving skills, you are too kind, sir,” She replied, drawing close, then away. “But certainly praise for my horses is always welcome. I purchased that pair of my own accord, despite Father telling me otherwise. So your words vindicate me, you see.”</p><p>He chuckled. “You have courage; Lord Rotherham is considered to be something of an authority on horseflesh.”</p><p>“And yet, even a master may sometimes err.” She observed smugly, provoking a full-throated laugh from him. “Then I may depend on your advice when I next seek to purchase horses?” He asked. “After all, your judgement has proven impeccable.”</p><p>“For shame, sir, do you propose to parade me about a bidding yard?” She teased. A flush unfurled upon his cheeks as he begged her pardon.</p><p>“I should never dream of doing so, ma’am, forgive me.” He bestowed a contrite smile upon her, but she only shook her head, waving the apology away.</p><p>The rest of the dance passed enjoyably, and he relinquished her to Mr Horace Stanley for the next with a very good grace. But Viola wished him back almost at once: despite his attentions, Bedford had never had the ill manners to bore her. Mr Stanley, on the other hand…</p><p>His manners were charming, but too practiced; his conversation was insipid; his intelligence was middling. When she attempted to introduce any subject more interesting than their fellow dancers, he looked mildly alarmed, and was quick to redirect the conversation back to its original subject.</p><p>And when his hand gripped hers a mite too tightly as they were going down the length of the room, Viola felt a near-overpowering desire to smack him.</p><p>The final note of the orchestra could not have come at a more opportune time. She was among the heartiest applauders of their efforts- though for reasons of her own.</p><p>“Perhaps I have already mentioned this, Lady Viola,” Mr Stanley simpered in her ear as he led her off to the side. “But you are the most charming dancer in this room.”</p><p>“For shame, sir,” She affected a laugh, eyes darting over the crowd, searching for Emily. “I cannot be swayed by pretty falsehoods!”</p><p>He laughed himself. “Falsehood! My dear Lady Viola, you are too modest to admit half your excellencies.”</p><p>“I have not yet been accused of such a thing, sir, and I beg you will not start now.” She offered him a distracted smile, wishing that Emily were near enough for her to call, or not so occupied in speaking with her much more agreeable partner. Her one hope of rescue- out of reach!</p><p>“I beg your pardon, Stanley, but I bear a most urgent errand to the lady.” She absolutely started; Colonel Fitzwilliam stood before her, looking almost apologetically at her partner. “My cousin- Mrs Darcy, that is- is most eager to speak with Lady Viola on a matter that I have been given to understand concerns ladies only.” He gave Stanley a conspiratorial look that was only somewhat convincing, but the other man was easily satisfied.</p><p>“Fitzwilliam, old chap! Well, if Mrs Darcy desires it- I have no wish to cross a lady’s wishes, naturally. Lady Viola,” He turned to his partner. “I fear that we must part for now. But you may be well assured that nothing will keep me hastening back to your side, should you but lift a finger.” He bowed very properly over her hand, and took his leave, presumably to find his next victim.</p><p>The Colonel offered Viola his arm with what she felt was unholy glee. “Does Mrs Darcy really wish to speak to me?” She enquired, allowing him to lead her through the chattering crowd.</p><p>“She had a notion that you needed… rescuing. Was she right?”</p><p>Viola gave a weary chuckle. “Oh, perfectly! Another ten minutes and I should have been turned to stone from utter boredom. Mr Stanley has less to offer by way of conversation than a post.”</p><p>“Not the best of dancers either, but certainly he is devoted.” He smirked. “You have but to- what was it? Ah, yes- <em>lift</em> <em>a finger</em>.”</p><p>“Well, that is one finger that will <em>not</em> be lifted.” Viola scoffed. “Better to be an ape-leader than tie oneself to <em>that</em>.”</p><p>A wicked look entered his eye. “Satan never saw so pretty an ape.” Her indignant gasp was lost as he hailed his cousin. “See, dear Lizzie, I have done as you asked. Here is the damsel, liberated from her distress!”</p><p>Giggling, Elizabeth drew Viola’s arm through her own. “You looked to be languishing for interesting company.” She observed, and Viola could not help the laugh that bubbled over.</p><p>“A half-hour in Mr Stanley’s company will have that effect.” She replied. “Even Emily can stand him for no longer than that, and she has a good opinion of everybody!”</p><p>Elizabeth hummed. “The more I see and hear of Miss Ashton, the more she reminds me of my sister Jane.” She added. “She is the most sweet-natured, even-tempered, generous-hearted person in the world, and is inclined to think well of everybody.”</p><p>“Yes, these perfect people are so very easy to love, yet so very difficult to live with!” </p><p>“Am I truly such a trial to my fellow man?” The Colonel interjected, and Viola was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes. Elizabeth showed no such restraint. “You are certainly a trial, dear Richard, but we suffer differently.”</p><p>He laughed just as Emily and her aunt drew closer; Aunt Almeria looked speculatively at him. Viola could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Her aunt, she thought, was probably weighing the Colonel against Lord Edward Fotheringay for Emily’s sake. For her part (if there were parts to be taken), Viola favoured the former: Edward Fotheringay was amiable, in a weak-chinned, milky sort of way, but had little wit and even less ambition. He was attractive enough now, but the years would sour that milky handsomeness into something quite ghastly; his money was the only attraction. The Colonel was not handsome, to be sure, but his manners and wit rendered his countenance so pleasant that looks stood quite redundant. He was intelligent, well-read, and while he lacked a title and fortune, had better prospects than Lord Edward given the wars on the continent and the chances of advancement thereby. And Matlock’s son, too– even if he was the second, the connection was nothing to turn up one’s nose at!</p><p>Well, no matter; Emily would not consent to any of them while she loved Robert, and she would not marry Robert so long as she feared exposure and scandal. Therein lay Viola’s challenge. She was fond of her cousin, and Emily she loved beyond all others. Love and guilt are great motivators, and Viola, fueled by both, longed to do something to promote the match.</p><p>Countess de Lieven called the third, a scotch reel, and Lord Edward Fotheringay approached, simpered, and took Emily into the set; Viola flirted idly with the Colonel (for the joy of Mr Darcy’s disapproval, among others!), and eventually allowed Sir John Bonneville to bear her away as well.</p><p>“Careful, Darcy, or your face might freeze like that.” Richard needled his cousin. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at them both, but Darcy looked, if possible, even more severe. “<em>You</em> should be careful, Richard,” He bit back. “That is not a lady that my aunt would be pleased to see you with.”</p><p>The Colonel frowned. “You will leave my mother out of this, if you please.” He replied. “And you worry without reason– I have no desire to be leg-shackled just yet, and Lady Viola is hardly a green girl to take any friendly attentions seriously!”</p><p>“<em>Green</em> is not the word I would use for her either!”</p><p>“Why do you dislike her so much?” Richard shot back. “She does not care for you, it is plain, but she does not speak of it. You, on the other hand…”</p><p>Darcy drew himself up, affronted, but just then, a murmur arose from the crowd as a very familiar personage entered the room.</p><p>His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, or ‘Prinny’ to his intimates, smiled affably at Countess Jersey. Her mother having been one of his erstwhile favourites, she was a familiar and welcome sight. “I trust I am not too late, Lady Jersey?” His eyes swept over the dancers, lingering on an attractive face or five. “Am I to be cut?”</p><p>She laughed and curtseyed deeply; he bowed over her hand. They moved slowly down the room, the Prince stopping here and there to greet acquaintances. Countess de Lieven and Princess Esterhazy too greeted him with pleasure, and he was pleased to flirt with them for a while.</p><p>Elizabeth could not help feeling a little let-down by the reality of the ‘First Gentleman of Europe’, but she was still new enough to be fascinated. Not so Darcy and Richard; contempt all but rolled off them. “Getting fatter, isn’t he?” The latter remarked to his cousins. His eye swept the dancing couples again– and paused on Viola. Her dancing was sprightly as ever, and her mouth smiled, but her spine was suddenly, painfully rigid and her eyes had the look of a cornered wolf. Her entire being screamed of fear.</p><p>Fear was something Richard Fitzwilliam was intimately familiar with, and it did not belong on Lady Viola’s face in the middle of a ballroom.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Used some bits from 'A Rich Wife' Chapter 5! Did you spot them?</p><p>Also, I'm sad to announce that I've removed the LGBTQ tag from this fic. There's just too many characters and I can't give it the space and respect I'd like to in the new plot. Sorry for whoever wanted to see it! I really tried, guys :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A crack in the mask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The façade slips. Just for a moment.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A quick update? Inconceivable!<br/>Note: I've updated the tags, so please take a look again to decide whether you want to keep reading this story. The chapters with the tag-relevant content will have trigger warnings, but even so. <br/>Anyway, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Viola was thirteen, an undergardener at Rotherham had, by some freakish happenstance, nearly severed his own fingers pruning her late mother’s roses. Twin shrieks had rent the air: young Davy’s, and Viola’s.</p><p>Her governess, Miss Banfield, had slapped her across the cheek.</p><p>“Make yourself useful, my lady,” She’d snapped. “Run and fetch my sewing-box from the schoolroom, while I bathe this unfortunate boy’s hand.”</p><p>Stomach roiling, cheek stinging, Viola had watched the doctor saw the unconscious Davy’s fingers off. Miss Banfield sewed the wounds shut, folding a strategically-left scrap of skin back over the bleeding stump. The governess did not swoon, nor did her hands shake as the blood dripped and the boy’s body shuddered.</p><p>Miss Banfield had not been the kindest of teachers, but Viola had taken one lesson to heart above all:</p><p>She <em>refused</em> to be useless.</p><p>The sight of the Prince Regent might send ice flooding through her veins, but it would not paralyse her. Smiling brightly at Sir John, she allowed his chatter to wash over her as he took her back to her aunt.</p><p>She dared hope that the moment would pass, that they would escape– but then the Prince Regent <em>turned</em>, and she saw his predatory gaze fall on Emily like a hunter’s arrow.</p><p>She refused to be useless.</p><p>“Lady Viola?” Her heart gave a terrific <em>thump</em> as she raised her eyes to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. “The set forms.” His tone was strange… almost a question?</p><p>Viola hated the Prince Regent, but now she <em>loathed</em> him. “Oh, I <em>wish</em> I might, Colonel,” She pitched her voice high, and pouted heavily. “I find I have twisted my ankle, however, and cannot <em>possibly</em> dance! How detestable this is!”</p><p>She looked up at him, eyes wide and watery and– he was not in the least taken in. There was a question in his eyes now.</p><p>This would not do. She <em>needed</em> him to believe her. She needed the excuse– the Prince had seen them– he was even now turning this way! She would not let this– he could <em>not</em> be allowed to come near Emily! Where was her next partner? The dance had already been called! Oh, were all men stupid or cruel or both? She could not be useless to Emily <em>again, </em>not when–</p><p>A touch to her arm jolted her out of her panic.</p><p>“You should sit down. Allow me–” The Colonel met little resistance as he drew her weight inexorably onto his arm; he led her by degrees to an empty chair. Emily followed mechanically.</p><p>“This is most kind of you, sir; I am most grateful.” Viola forced out through fear and surprise. No, he did not believe her; but still he was allowing her ruse. Why?</p><p>The Colonel shook his head with a small smile. “You look to be in pain, Lady Viola. May I do anything?”</p><p>The <em>liar</em>. He lied as much as she! “I only need rest, sir. But if you… that is… no, it is too much to ask…” She glanced up at him through damp lashes.</p><p>Let him offer, let him offer! “No service I could render you, my lady, could be too much. You have only to ask.”</p><p>Confusion and relief warred within her breast; she looked up at him dewily. “I wish you would dance this set with Emily, sir, for my sake.” He blinked; Emily’s eyes snapped to hers. Viola looked the very picture of innocence. “Please, sir, it would be such a relief– I would feel less responsible for spoiling such a lovely evening. Will you, please?”</p><p>The Colonel drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height. “You need not feel responsible, Lady Viola– but it is true that I would be delighted to stand up with Miss Ashton, if she pleases. That is, if she does not have a partner already?”</p><p>Viola pressed a discreet finger to Emily’s leg through her skirts. “I– I would be honoured, sir,” Miss Ashton replied. “But I have already promised this dance to Lord Pelham–”</p><p>“My dear Emily,” Viola smiled widely. “Pray exercise the prerogative of the worm and choose the early bird! Allow me to handle Lord Pelham.”</p><p>“Come, Miss Ashton,” The Colonel offered her his hand, smiling affably. “Pelham is not likely to call me out for this, nor can you be expected to wait forever for him! Shall we?”</p><p>White to the lips, confused, Emily accepted his hand; Viola exhaled long and slow. When she looked back up, the Colonel’s eyes were on her, sharp and steady amid the first strains of the Boulanger. She smiled; he replied with the smallest of nods, and whisked Emily into the set.</p><p>Not a moment too soon. “My <em>dear</em> Lady Viola,” The Prince Regent loomed over her chair. “How long it has been? Brighton, last year, was it not?”</p><p>She nearly leapt to her feet, but remembered her ‘twisted’ ankle. “Your Royal Highness,” She murmured, rising slowly only to dip into a shaky curtsey. “Your memory is very exact, sir.”</p><p>Mrs Morton steadied her as she rose again. “Thank you, Aunt,” She murmured, catching herself on the back of her chair. “I do not wish to offend, sir,” She looked at him with a pained smile. “But might I be permitted to sit? Only I have twisted my ankle, and…”</p><p>He waved her words to silence. “Oh very well, very well,” The royal gaze had moved to the dance floor; Viola’s stomach twisted when she followed his gaze to Emily. The Colonel was speaking, and there was a smile on both their faces; Emily’s looked a tad strained, it was true, but only to those who knew her. To the casual observer, she looked like any other laughing girl who had never known fear, did not feel it writhing in her belly–</p><p>“Your cousin looks very fine this evening.” The Prince observed. “Do you know if any of her dances are unspoken for?”</p><p>The ever-present rage roared into a storm, but <em>still</em> Viola must keep her head. “I do not think so, sir.” She replied sweetly. “She is so popular, you know; all her dances were claimed as soon as she arrived!”</p><p>They watched in silence; Princess Esterhazy raised an eyebrow at Sally Jersey, wondering why the Prince chose to hover around this unusually closemouthed Viola Morton.</p><p>The dance ended; Viola’s terror rose again, but to her astonishment, the Colonel did not return Emily to them. Instead, he escorted her, with nary a break in their conversation, to Lady Bedford.</p><p>It was a stroke of genius: the Duke was sitting with his mother; Emily had promised him her fifth; while a trifle irregular, it would not be remarked upon. The Dowager’s presence made it permissible; and in being on the very opposite side of the ballroom, she was as far from the Prince Regent as it was possible to be!</p><p>The Colonel bowed over Emily’s hand; Viola clenched her own. Her head was spinning: terror and rage and newfound relief; all she saw was the Colonel’s tall figure winding through the crowd to the Darcys, the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head…</p><p><em>I could kiss him</em>, she thought, hazily bidding the Prince Regent farewell as he walked away. <em>I could kiss him for gratitude, for joy, for-</em></p><p>Too much. Too much. The room spun around her. What did she say to excuse herself? She hardly knew. Did she remember to limp? Perhaps.</p><p>She burst out of the ballroom and began to run. A moment alone, a moment of quiet. Just to gather her thoughts…</p>
<hr/><p>The Colonel followed Darcy’s gaze just in time to see Lady Viola all but flee the ballroom. Elizabeth chewed her lip for a moment, then took off after her; the gentlemen followed.</p><p>They were not far behind her; near enough to see her turn into a corridor some distance from the doors.</p><p>(Richard hoped devoutly that she was not going to be sick)</p><p>They rounded the corner… and stopped. She stood against the wall, shaking with… tears? Fear? Hunched over, arms encircling her midsection in a death-grip, gasping for breath… it was a pitiable sight.</p><p>Helplessly, Richard tried to signal his cousins to leave. This was not a moment in which so proud a lady would like to be caught.</p><p>But Elizabeth stepped forward, and that seemed to alert the lady to their presence. She bolted upright, eyes wide.</p><p>Her face went pale, then scarlet. “Viola–”</p><p>“It is nothing.” The lady cut her off brusquely. “A trifle– nothing to concern yourself about, Eliza–”</p><p>A bold lie; a barefaced, brazen lie. Richard wanted to pull his cousins away to permit her her falsehood. But then Darcy spoke, and for once, it was not a tone of reserve or anger or disapproval. Even Viola startled– <em>noticeably– </em>at its gentleness.</p><p>“Lady Viola, we cannot in good conscience leave you– you do not look to be in a state for–”</p><p>It was a tone that Georgiana would have recognised. And for one moment, it seemed that Lady Viola would respond to it as the young Miss Darcy did. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, trembling…</p><p>… Before her features coalesced into a rage so cold, so frigid, that Richard’s hair fairly stood on end.</p><p>“And since when, Mr Darcy,” She sneered. “Have <em>you</em> cared? Do not stray from your habit, sir, lest I again confuse it for <em>friendship</em>.”</p><p>Nose in the air, eyes flashing, she swept past them and back around the corner, leaving three shell-shocked cousins in her wake.</p><p>It was a whole minute before Darcy, red with anger, made to follow, but Elizabeth’s hand clamped around his arm. “You owe us an explanation, Fitzwilliam.” She kept her voice low, but her consternation was plain. “What on <em>earth</em> did you do to her?”</p><p>“Nothing!” Darcy hissed. “I have not had a civil conversation with the lady in nearly six years– and even less for eight years before that– <em>I </em>am not to blame for any fool notions she may have taken into her head–”</p><p>“You said that your father wished for an alliance between you both,” Elizabeth’s eyes still bored into him. “Might she have had a similar wish?”</p><p>He scoffed. “If she did, she would have welcomed my renewing our acquaintance upon her come-out, would she not? Not sniped and provoked and all but closed the door in my face!”</p><p>“Besides, she did not sound like a woman scorned.” Richard pointed out. “If anything, she ever takes pleasure in provoking you.”</p><p>“And yet she never says anything ill about you.” Elizabeth mused. “You allude to her… <em>unsavoury</em> nature time and time again, and yet I cannot recall a single time when she has done the same about you.”</p><p>“Perhaps because she is aware that you are my <em>wife</em>?” Darcy suggested acidly. “Even Viola has better manners than that.”</p><p>Elizabeth said nothing; Richard could almost see the puzzle turning in her head. “At any rate, we should return before our absence is marked. I do not wish to set off the gossips.”</p><p>Fortunately, in the presence of the Prince Regent, all other gossip was nothing. Richard’s eye went to Lady Viola again, where she sat with her aunt and Lord Pelham. Her chin was up and her colour restored, and by her expression, appeared to be coaxing Lord Pelham back to sorts– presumably from Miss Ashton’s ‘abandonment’.</p><p>The lady in question was engaged in a minuet with Bedford; indeed, they made quite the striking pair. Richard wondered if Lady Viola perhaps hoped to redirect the Duke’s attentions towards her cousin; it would not be a bad thing, except to set poor Miss Ashton up for a major disappointment– but no, she was clearly fond of her cousin. It must not be that.</p><p>A glance at the Prince Regent, now standing with Lady Bedford– his complete lack of subtlety almost boggled the mind– showed him to be watching Miss Ashton with an expression that could only be called <em>hungry.</em> It made the Colonel’s stomach turn, and by the way she kept an eye on both the predator and his quarry, Lady Viola’s too.</p><p>The last movement of the dance began; Miss Ashton’s cheeks began to pale, but her hold over her composure was remarkable. When the dance drew them together, she spoke to her partner, who nodded, a placid smile on his face. Had he marked the changes in her countenance, Richard wondered. He seemed too calm, not watchful enough.</p><p>At Lady Viola’s side, Lord Pelham bowed and took his leave. His eyes too were fixed on Miss Ashton; his dance again, and this time he did not mean to be cheated out of it. Miss Ashton’s eyes found him, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile; she too was ready to dance with him.</p><p>“I mislike the way the Prince looks at Miss Ashton.” Elizabeth murmured to her husband. He nodded tightly.</p><p>The final bars; the couples bowed; Miss Ashton took the Duke’s proffered arm, and he delivered her to her rightful place by Mrs Morton’s side. Richard stifled a snigger at the Prince’s sour expression; it was well done of Bedford to return her to her aunt rather than back to his mother; especially since Lord Pelham, with unseemly but understandable haste, appeared to claim her.</p><p>Elizabeth was grinning too. “All’s well there, then,” She fixed Richard with a stern look. “And I think you should be looking for Miss Entwhistle, cousin? Did she not promise you this dance?”</p><p>Richard started. “You are right; she did indeed.” He cleared his throat. “You have my thanks, dear Lizzie.” He drew himself up and left them.</p><p>“Viola looks to have recovered.” Elizabeth turned back to her husband. She nodded to where Viola was smiling up at Bedford, the picture of composure. Darcy’s lips thinned. “Indeed she does.”</p><p>“She spoke, earlier, of friendship…” Elizabeth continued delicately. “Of confusing your concern for friendship. You <em>were</em> friends once, were you not?”</p><p>“As children.” Darcy scoffed. “Not something she values overmuch.”</p><p>His wife hummed, drawing him towards the wall. The set formed; Richard had found Miss Entwhistle, thankfully, and looked pleased enough with the pretty heiress. She was rather young, Elizabeth thought, but an age difference of eleven years was not uncommon: she and Fitzwilliam had eight years between them! At any rate, her fortune of twenty thousand would be sufficient for Richard, and he would no doubt be a kind husband. Whether they would be well-matched, however, was for them to think of.</p><p>She looked at Viola thoughtfully before speaking. “I think the opposite, my love.” She shook her head as Darcy began to reply. “I gather that she did not have many playmates growing up, being an only child. Your mother was the only mother she ever knew; it is likely, is it not, that you were her only friend? When your mother passed, and your paths sundered… is it not also likely that she <em>lost</em> her only friend?”</p><p>It was plain that this angle had never occurred to her husband. Darcy spluttered and denied, but a strange look entered his eyes, and he fell silent, staring across the room.</p><p>His mind went back to the sun-warmed grounds of Pemberley, and the dark-haired little girl who had followed him hither and thither. After a few years, he had accepted her presence, even expected it when she was in residence or when he and Mama made one of their frequent trips to Rotherham.</p><p>His first pony– he had gallantly placed her before him atop Buttercup. First she’d cried, then at his coaxing, had peeked out at the world and then laughed and demanded a gallop. While Mama had dried her tears after a fall, he’d run to the kitchens to beg Cook for her favourite tarts.</p><p>When his mother had died, they had held hands on his bedroom floor and cried and cried, until the new baby’s own cries had pulled a sniffling Viola to the nursery. She had wept even more as her carriage drew away, leaving him and Father in a house filled with his mother’s ghost and an infant’s wails.</p><p>What had she returned home to? He had never asked.</p><p>Elizabeth’s voice intruded as though from far away; it was very gentle. “You were a child, my love, and you observed the proprieties. She was a child too, but perhaps she was lonely enough to resent them.”</p><p>He had never written. Eight years of silence; small wonder that her nineteen-year-old eyes had flashed with bitterness and hauteur when he had made his bow. “I abandoned her.” His voice was hollow. His wife took his hand tenderly.</p><p>“You did not abandon her, Fitzwilliam,” Her thumb caressed his knuckles in the way he particularly loved. “But she <em>felt </em>abandoned. That is the important thing.”</p><p>Rotherham Park was a large house, larger then Pemberley. It had been built for large families with many children, not for an old widower with one single, lonely daughter. Darcy looked again at his childhood playmate– at her dark curls, at her placid, artificial smile, at the flirtation in her glance– and thought of her alone in that house, growing slowly resigned to his silence; growing older, cleverer, harder, into a woman that he despised.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I Cannot Fix On The Hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Of secrets, confidences, and carriage rides.</p>
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    <p>Many years later, Viola would struggle to remember much of that ball.</p><p>It remained in her memory as a maelstrom of laughter and terror and cold urgency; there was music and bad wine and the Colonel’s shoulders and the Prince Regent’s expression curdling like old milk. But this was the morning after, and she remembered everything.</p><p>Her insides shrivelled as she remembered how thoroughly she had lost her painstaking control; the veneer of composure that has attended her every word and motion for six years was gone; and who should bear witness to it all but the one man before whom Viola would have sooner <em>died</em> than show her emotions!</p><p>Fitzwilliam Darcy had no right to her secrets. Had lost– had<em> given up</em> the damned right.</p><p>With shaking hands, she smoothed out a sheaf of papers. Faded ink and thinning paper notwithstanding, these were among her most prized possessions, for the hand that had penned them had been the most beloved one of all.</p><p><strong><em>My dear Viola,</em></strong> the first one read,</p><p>
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    <em>I was delighted to receive your first letter. It does you credit, my love, for who could believe that a child of six could have so fine a hand? Your Papa should be proud, for he has a very clever, very diligent daughter. Your letter had the added benefit of making Fitzwilliam apply himself to his own letters; he is determined that a boy of ten should be outdone in nothing by a girl of six! So for that too I thank you.</em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>All is well at Pemberley. Fitzwilliam has been looking after your dear puppy, and I am pleased to report that Princess Violetta grows healthy and strong. My son has been trying to get her to respond to ‘Nelson’, but I have made it my duty to play with her during his lessons and ensure that she knows her real name. It will be our little secret! </em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>By the by, Fitzwilliam also wishes you to know that Buttercup is well. The poor pony took a little time to get used to your absence, and eagerly awaits your return. </em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>You will be pleased to know that Mr Wickham is overseeing the building of a fence around Farmer Granger’s chicken coop to ensure that your friends remain unharmed. Mr Granger is very grateful, and has sent a bottle of cherries for you. By the time you read this, your cook will have hidden them away in the pantry. I have written to Miss Banfield, telling her that if Lady Viola is very good and completes all her lessons and her needlework satisfactorily every week, Mrs Broome is to make a plate of cherry tarts every Sunday until the cherries are over. It is in your hands, Viola. </em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>I must go, my darling, for Mrs Reynolds wishes to discuss the menu. I do detest menu planning, but it must be done. I shall await your next letter eagerly, in which you shall tell me how your lessons go and what plants you found on your walk with Miss Banfield. Fitzwilliam too sends his regards, and his wishes that you return soon to play pirates. </em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>With all my love,</em>
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</p><p>
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    <em>Lady Anne Darcy.</em>
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</p><p>Many, many times had Viola read this missive, as well as the others that had followed for the next four years. She guarded them jealously, locking them in her escritoire most of the time. These letters were all that she had of the only mother she had ever known: kind, loving, <em>perfect</em> Lady Anne Darcy.</p><p>They were remnants, too, of the childish friendship she had enjoyed with Fitzwilliam Darcy, but no matter. Even clever women were permitted one mistake, and she had long outgrown hers.</p><p>A sigh shuddered out of her as she returned the letters to their usual place. She would dress; she must look in on Emily, to ensure that she was not too disturbed after last night. Doubtless she would be in no condition to receive any callers, but perhaps she would find it in her to step out at the fashionable hour? It would do her good to take the air.</p><p>But it was not to be; no amount of suggesting or exhortation would rouse the pale-faced girl from her bedroom. She insisted on solitude, that a day spent in her chambers and the library would fortify her, and so Viola, fearful of pushing, left her to her devices with naught but a kiss and a command to seek her out if she required aught.</p><p>Much would Viola have given for a day in the library herself, but she spent the morning with her correspondence and her callers. Mrs Morton was only too pleased to see the Duke again, and her son put in an appearance as well; she did not mark his sullenness, nor how his eye wandered to the stairs as though hoping to catch sight of someone. He was paying his cousin a very proper attention, she thought, and Viola had always been fond of him.</p><p>Lord Edward Fotheringay was disappointed to hear that Miss Ashton was sadly indisposed, but he left his card and another hideous bunch of lilies; Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had danced with Emily twice, did <em>not</em> come, but sent his card and two flower arrangements: daisies for Emily, and of all things, love-in-a-mist for Viola.</p><p><em>Do I confuse you, Colonel?</em> She thought, fingering the blue petals thoughtfully. <em>I might say the same.</em></p><p>“I beg your pardon, my lady,” She turned to see Mr Trevor fidgeting behind her. “His lordship wishes to see you at once in his study.”</p><p>His lordship did indeed look a trifle agitated; he paced about the study like a caged bull. Viola cleared her throat, shutting the door. “You sent for me, sir?”</p><p>Lord Rotherham whirled around. “Yes– come away from the door.” He beckoned her towards a chair. “Rivers said that Miss Ashton is ill.”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose she is tired after last night.” Viola replied. “It was an uncommonly energetic ball, after all.”</p><p>“I never expected the Prince to be there,” He muttered, shaking his head.</p><p>Viola inclined her head. “It is a little tame for his tastes, is it not? But I suppose he must do all he can to stay in fashion. Men who are all but falling out of their clothes must, Prince or no.”</p><p>Her father looked as though he might object to her crudeness, but appeared to think better of it. “What was the name of the fellow she danced the fourth with? The army chap who approached you first.”</p><p>“That would be Colonel Fitzwilliam– Richard Fitzwilliam, Matlock’s younger son.” She replied. “Yes, I had promised him the fourth, but he was kind enough to stand up with Emily upon my asking.”</p><p>“He escorted her to Lady Bedford at the end of it, did he not?”</p><p>“Bedford was her partner for the fifth. It was well thought-of– I was most relieved to see it.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Lord Rotherham’s brow was furrowed. “How could he know that Miss Ashton fears the Prince? You have not been irresponsible, I hope.” Viola bristled at the implication.</p><p>It was this irritation that fuelled her next words: “It was not <em>my</em> lack of responsibility that brought us here.”</p><p>The Marquess froze. His daughter’s gaze dropped to the fireplace, but she would not beg pardon.</p><p>A carriage rattled by outside- a team, judging by the clatter of hooves. A street singer began some sweet, lively Scottish ballad. There were dirty swipes on the window panes, Viola noted distantly; she would have to ask Mrs Bolton to speak with the housemaids again.</p><p>When the Marquess spoke again, it was with a notable effort. “If this Fitzwilliam is interested in my ward,” He said slowly. “Then you must do all in your power to promote the match. Nothing will protect her as well as marriage, and if he takes her away from London, all the better. She will never be safe as long as she is here.”</p><p>“I understand.” Viola had no intention of promoting the match above Robert’s suit, but there was too much truth in her father’s words. She rose. “I must not keep my guests waiting. By your leave, sir.”</p><p>As she closed the door behind her, Viola exhaled shakily. There was so much between her father and herself– so much that remained unsaid and festering. If she were the plain-spoken sort… but then, he had not cared to make her so, had he?</p><p>Years of loneliness had made a secretive animal of her; she operated through hints and allusions, through subtlety, machinations, and even under-handedness at times. Viola knew this was not a particularly ‘good’ way of solving one’s problems, but… well, it had worked so far. And bluntness was not a hard-won skill; if she ever met a problem that she could not get around, surely it would be easy enough to simply shout it down!</p><p>But enough. She had guests.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day saw Emily come down at last, a trifle pale, but otherwise perfectly composed and ready to partake in all their calls. Mrs Morton fretted about her pallor, but Viola held her tongue.</p><p>Lord Edward had better success today, for he found Miss Ashton as sweet-tempered as ever, and as amused by his witticisms. Viola, left to entertain both the Duke and her cousin, had a difficult time of it. The Duke was ready to be pleased, but Robert’s sullenness made for a leaden conversation.</p><p>“Don’t be a block,” She hissed, having dispatched the Duke to her aunt for a moment on the pretext of inviting them to the opera. “She won’t have him, so do stop <em>scowling</em>.”</p><p>He cast her a baleful look. “And you can guarantee this, I suppose?”</p><p>“If you would <em>do as I say</em>, perhaps.” Viola retorted. “That includes not sending bouquets of <em>daffodils</em>, of all things. You <em>fool</em>– as well trumpet your feelings through all the house! I doubt there was a servant who did not know within the hour!”</p><p>Another dark look, but Bedford’s triumphant return put an end to the exchange. Shortly after, the gentlemen left; Robert’s leave-taking of Emily was ceremonious, almost cold. Viola wanted desperately to roll her eyes.</p><p>He was acting like a silly, injured boy; not all of Emily’s coolness to him could be laid at the Prince Regent’s door. Robert’s impatience must take some of the blame.</p><p>At any rate, the Fotheringay affair would come to nothing. Doubtless the fellow was soppy about Emily, but so milky and uninteresting that nothing in him could attach a woman of any sense. And if Emily even entertained the notion of compromising her standards– why, it would be so easy to render him a little less eligible. The fool probably had a sizeable number of indiscretions; any one of them, dropped into the right ears, would do the trick.</p><p>“Colonel Fitzwilliam, my lady.” Rivers’ voice interrupted her scheming. She blinked, unable to process the words for a moment, and then unable to reply.</p><p>Mrs Morton curtseyed, casting a sharp glance at her niece. “Colonel. You are very welcome.”</p><p>Viola’s gaze, when she rose out of her own curtsey, met the Colonel’s, unabashed. “How kind of you to call, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She matched his smile. “Such lovely flowers you sent yesterday– I was quite overwhelmed.”</p><p>“Such pretty daisies for Miss Ashton as well,” Mrs Morton interjected. “Were they not, dear?”</p><p>Emily flushed. “Very pretty indeed. I thank you, Colonel.”</p><p>“That my humble selection pleased you ladies is recompense enough.” He bowed over their hands. But when Mrs Morton begged him to sit down, he replied, “Forgive me, ma’am, but I came to ask Lady Viola if she would be kind enough to join me for a drive around the Park… as promised.”</p><p>She had <em>not</em> promised, but Viola was hardly churlish enough to point that out. “I would be delighted, Colonel. If you will grant me a few moments, I shall fetch my hat.”</p><p>“Of course, my lady.”</p><p>She was no fool; she knew well enough what he would ask her. Indeed, he was owed at least some honest answers; a pity he would receive none. At any rate, she was going into… well, not quite a battle, but a duel. She would need armour.</p><p>When she finally descended, arrayed in a white dress, black, military-style spencer, and a matching black hat with a veil (thrown back for now), her aunt looked vaguely disapproving. The hat <em>was</em>, after all, funereal.</p><p>“Shall we, Colonel?” She asked sweetly. “I am eager to see your father’s horses. <em>Not contemptible</em> is how you described them, as I recall.”</p><p>Try as he might, Richard could not suppress his smile. “My lady has an exact memory. They are just outside, nervously awaiting your judgement.”</p><p>They were not, in any way, nervous. Viola was delighted with them: two large, powerful, intelligent-looking Cleveland Bay stallions that neither shied away nor fidgeted as she examined them. “They are <em>exquisite,</em> Colonel.” She breathed. “Your father is to be congratulated. They must be smooth and swift goers– they stand with such balance, such poise!”</p><p>“Your eye does you credit, Lady Viola,” He said, helping her into the curricle. “Are you comfortable?”</p><p>“Quite, thank you.”</p><p>The route to the Park offered them any number of subjects– children harassing their nursemaid, street hawkers selling curios for a ha’penny, Town Beaux sauntering along, even an odd-shaped carriage that Viola was prepared to bet would come apart within half a year– and she took full advantage of it, carrying on a spirited dialogue that kept her companion off any unwanted topics for nearly half an hour.</p><p>“It is good to see you so vivacious,” Richard observed as they trotted up the Serpentine. “How is your ankle, my lady?”</p><p>Her…? “Oh, yes, my ankle,” She made a show of demurely tucking said ankle firmly under her skirts. “Quite recovered, thank you. Nothing two nights’ rest could not put right.”</p><p>He nodded, but her slip had been marked. Out of his sight, she pinched her thigh. It was not like her to be carried away her own performance!</p><p>“I am glad,” He replied. “But it is a pity that I should have lost the opportunity of dancing with you.”</p><p>She sighed. “And so anticipated a dance, too! When I recall how well you dance, Colonel, I am quite cast down by the loss.”</p><p>He executed an impressive turn, even raising his hat at a passing gentleman. “Then may I take a leaf from a mutual friend, and reserve your first dance at the Huntingdon ball tomorrow? If your ankle should feel up to it, of course.”</p><p>Oh, he was <em>baiting</em> her, but she could not help enjoying it. It had been so long since a man had tried. “I shall scold it into submission, sir, and gladly save you my first. But you will <em>have</em> to be on time, you know, for I will not be kept waiting.”</p><p>“You certainly shall not– I am no Lord Pelham.” Thus, another sally. She laughed. “Say rather that you are a reformed Lord Pelham– did you not mark how swiftly he claimed his second dance? He did not make the same mistake twice!”</p><p>“Ah, but how could he, considering the inducement– and considering the trimming you surely gave!” He retorted. She grinned, a small, roguish thing, utterly at odds with the demure way she folded her hands in her lap.</p><p>“I would never, sir.”</p><p>His shout of laughter drew more than a few quizzical looks.</p><p>“Pray attend to your reins, Colonel– I have no wish to see such tender mouths ruined by ungentle use!” She admonished.</p><p>His eyes danced. “And what if my inattention were to land you in a ditch, ma’am?”</p><p>Viola shrugged. “Clothes may be cleaned. There is no remedy for ruined horses!”</p><p>She was a mite peeved at his laughing again, but he begged pardon, and she was pleased enough to forgive his lapse. Amity thus restored, they drove on.</p><p>“If my lady would not take it amiss,” He began. “I have a question.”</p><p>There. She was surprised he would broach it so openly, but perhaps that was his way. “That depends on the question.” She replied. “But my friends may speak freely with me, I hope.”</p><p><em>That </em>got his attention. “Are we friends then, Lady Viola?” He enquired.</p><p>No, for she had no friends. She had allies, she had friendly acquaintances, and she had enemies. Elizabeth– well, Elizabeth was an ally, was she not? Were they not using each other? <em>Were</em> they still using each other? She hardly knew. Darcy had once been her friend, but now he was her enemy. He <em>was</em> her father’s friend, though, so perhaps that made him an ally too. She hardly knew. And this gentleman? Who had come to her aid for reasons of his own, reasons she could barely begin to guess at? She hardly knew <em>him</em>, still less his motives. No, they were not friends.</p><p>She blinked up at him with a slow smile. “I hope so, sir. Else I have promised my first dance to a stranger.”</p><p>He returned her smile. “To call myself your friend would be the honour of my life, my lady.”</p><p>“Well,” She lowered her voice. “Let us hope the King never hears that.” She softened her smile. “Ask your question, Colonel, by all means.”</p><p>He was silent for a moment. “You were never the Prince Regent’s favourite, were you?”</p><p>Her hand convulsed in her skirts, and for a moment, he half-thought she would hit him. The flare of her nostrils showed her furious enough. But Lady Viola had far better manners than that. “I suppose you had that from Gertrude.” She observed in a scrupulously even tone. “Or else you have been listening to a set I do not care to name.”</p><p>He sighed. “It was Gertrude.” He admitted. “She said that she had heard that you were rarely out of the Prince’s company.”</p><p>“Lady Fitzwilliam seems uncommonly well-informed.” Viola retorted. “I wonder you do not take her word for it, so sure as she seems.”</p><p>“My lady, I have offended you–”</p><p>“You should not call me that, you know.” Viola cut him off. “You are hardly a servant to address me as ‘my lady’. And no, Colonel, you have not offended me– how should you? When you do not believe it yourself? Come, let me have your real question, sir. I am not a fool.”</p><p>The torrent of words did not fool Richard for a moment, nor the coolness of her tone. Nothing in her expression or bearing gave it away, but she was hurt. Not offended, perhaps, but hurt. Which was worse, in his opinion, and he rued ever broaching the subject.</p><p>“Gertrude also mentioned another lady…” He hesitated. “A Miss Letitia Ainsley.” Nary a muscle flickered on Viola’s face. “Something about her being ruined…? She was not clear on the details, but she held you responsible. I cannot credit it, Lady Viola– the lady Elizabeth so values, the lady who so protects her cousin, would not have served another young lady so ill a turn. I cannot believe you capable of it.”</p><p>He spoke with gentleness, with conviction– but also with trepidation. He did not think her a saint, no; but it did not take a saint to refrain from ruining another. Lady Viola was calculating, sharp-tongued, and a decided flirt, but he did not believe her unprincipled.</p><p>“What do you want from me, Colonel?” She asked, her voice very quiet. “Do you wish me to say that I did not ruin Letitia Ainsley, as your sister-in-law says? That I never would have?” She exhaled, a short, sharp burst. “I would never ruin an innocent girl, Colonel– I have principle enough for that.”</p><p>His breath, Richard observed, was suddenly easier.</p><p>“But,” He looked down at her, and her eyes were two flinty pebbles in a face of marble. “Little Letty Ainsley was no such thing, and not one part of me shrank from giving her her just desserts.” She raised her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “And I regret none of it.”</p><p>A cold grip seemed to have encased his ribs. “What did she do to you?”</p><p>Viola laughed, soft and dangerous. “To me? Nothing. It would have been better for her if she had.” Before he could ask the obvious, she forestalled him: “I have said as much as I care to on this subject, Colonel. I can tell you nothing more.”</p><p>“Just one thing,” Richard forced out. “Did she deserve it?” <strong><em>Poor Miss Ainsley could produce no proof of her innocence– and this was proof enough of her guilt! Worse, Lady Viola claimed to not even know the girl–</em></strong></p><p>“Every last word.”</p><p>Richard knew not how to feel, or what to think. They drove on a few minutes more. To ruin a girl was an act most contemptible; but from a woman of intelligence and principle, who claimed that the act had been deserved? What could the Ainsley girl have done to earn not just such treatment, but such continued contempt? Could anything justify it? Did–</p><p>“I think you should drive me home now, Colonel.” Viola’s voice roused him from his thoughts. Her tone was gentle, almost kind; she looked like she pitied him and his turmoil. “You have other obligations, I am sure.” It sounded like an offer, not a command. But what was she offering?</p><p>It came to him easily enough: a way out. She had seen his turmoil, the way he struggled with the knowledge of her actions, and was offering to free him from her company. Abruptly, a memory rose before his eyes: of her gasping, clawing for a semblance of composure in a dark corridor.</p><p>A great wave of pity washed over him, and it made it easy for him to smile. “You seem eager to be rid of me, Lady Viola.” He replied, and was gratified to see her confusion. Only for a split-second, but he had seen it. “Have you so many engagements, then?”</p><p>She made some spirited rejoinder, and he turned the horses right along the Deer Pound.</p>
<hr/><p>It was a full half-hour later that Colonel Fitzwilliam turned onto Upper Grosvenor Street. Viola hesitated. “You know, Colonel, you surprised me today.” She began. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “That was… not what I had expected you to ask.”</p><p>“Ah.” He concentrated on not running down an evening paper-boy, before replying: “Had I asked, would you have told me the truth?”</p><p>She considered him with a wry smile. “I fear not. Though about Mr Darcy… perhaps.”</p><p>“Would you have wanted to?”</p><p><em>That </em>brought her up short; it was not something she had ever considered, for all her expertise at secrets. The idea of a confidence. He did not seem to expect an answer, however, and halted the carriage expertly. He helped her descend, but then held on to her hand. “I am aware that there is much I do not know, my lady,” He said, and Viola could not but thrill slightly at the look in his eyes. “And you know your own business best. I only wish to say that should you, at any time, wish to speak– for my counsel, or simply to unburden yourself– you may count on me.”</p><p>“You really should not call me that.”</p><p>Almost as soon as the words were spoken, Viola wanted to sink through the ground; that was not at all what she had meant to say! Moreover, her voice had chosen this exact moment to go high and somewhat <em>breathy</em>; it was <em>mortifying</em>.</p><p>Something like amusement lit his eyes, but it was too soft for the word. He pressed her hand for a moment. “I should return home. I have another engagement…” He bowed over her hand. “My lady.”</p><p>Viola felt as though she had missed a step going downstairs.</p><p>“Of course. I will not keep you. Goodbye, Colonel.” She babbled, curtseying and gesturing for the groom to knock. Rivers opened almost immediately, and she slipped inside, leaving her erstwhile companion, perplexed but amused, on her doorstep.</p><p>Stupid Dixon; she must have laced her stays too tight! How hard it was to breathe!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves in this difficult time. Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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